The good times are finished.
The drugs and booze have
taken all the light and joy.
Only pain, wasted body, remain.
The words don’t come now.
All so distant, dull blood roar.
There words still, from before.
Will they carry you forever?
So, like the matador and warrior
you pick up the gun, pick up the key
and open the door to the cold night,
to the starless sky that swallows all.
All you did to yourself, that made
a heroic name, burned you down
took all that was a dream in you.
The starless sky won’t give you back.
I say I want love, but I have run from it ever chance I’ve gotten.
I say I want someone to adore me, but have spurned all who have.
Always dreaming of some crimson angel, impossible in the heavens,
some weeping demon all too real in the depths of late night hells.
Those unattainable joys and passions that seem so much better
than a simple and chubby sweetheart to share ramen and sitcoms with.
A good girl loves true, but I want the seductress who burns me to the ground.
A good girl stays after the day has fallen and the years have passed into breeding.
The crimson angels, the weeping demons, all pass away after a season.
Sitting alone, tea in my hand, thinking of a sweet girls who smiles for me.
Will it be different this time? Will I stay?