|
As sun and dove devour bat and moon
If we stay on this road we'll find religion soon
I plant the seeds that flower in veins
And destine down blacklit bathroom drains
Of sacraments and ends
Dead in a ditch death is the friend buried
Beneath drugged skin
My stand become a lean verse cigarette machine
Could cocaine candy consoled crippled
Children cavitated the tears of flesh death burns
Now a miscentered mantelpiece in a
Porcelain urn but what words will witched sing
While warlocks pluck away all day
At their broken heartstring
I took some gun from some sick hand
Said, "Count to ten", oh, "One, two, three"
Fuck it, I don't care
And all of us widowed wives
Discussing dimensions in dream homes we hide
And it's not fair
These affairs are all I had, it's sad I had to lie
Forget it, I get it
I guess it's true, I'd make a boring bride
|
|
