The shrill deceiver walked past the door
And the room turned an eclectic hue
Gentleman and ladies admire the fake decor
Nothing at all here in this ballroom was askew
The host looked outside and then knew
The ye-olde pubs are closing
All his guests were only posing
Through the upstairs window came a young man
All he took was the hosts well-groomed head
No guest had a clue to the battle plan
Their host was now all but dead
Upon his new Indian carpet he had bled
What else would fate for him deem?
A father who would not let his daughter gleam
Her father kept her under lock and key upstairs
The young man had to help this young lass
Then all of this would be theirs
The world with the glitter and class
He would now see his friends and surpass
A young man with money laid across his mind
He steals from the first rich-loving girl he may find
One octopus, one owl
You kept me up so many nights
Listening to all those words
The ones you’re singing to me
You’ve always had me captured
I’ve always been yours
I’ll dig a tunnel, I’ll liquify
If only for you
My ears are open
I’m waitng for your words
You couldn’t fit all your love
on just a single cd
With your torch
I watched you go
It will never leave me
Seeing that forest burn
My words never meant a thing
You took and enamered them
I want those letters back
You used neon and they melted
I was next on your path
We walked together
Then you lit me up
And now you won’t look back
White surrounding in the form of 19 walls
Laden with portraits who never look up
The boy sits complacent on the latex floor
Thinking out loud to an audience of two
And they stand before him in their respected decor
One with layers of red that could second as his bedroom curtains
The other in a black shade consisting of everything he wants taken off
That boy has a big decision to make
Looking closer and ever closer he catches the consistency
The red holds a box wide awake with a smile inside
The black stands awkwardly in a pile of mixed liquids
They are each just out of arms reach
And now there is something standing between the blurry choices
In shades of blue and green much like our pasts
They then take a photo from their pocket and hold it before their face
The choice he had almost forgotten
The boy can’t decide
Tanned faces taken back
Leather lines lead to your brick jaw
Oh yes, draw out my blood
This time is so uniformly cliché
Our disgrace of clouded kinship
I’m under your full control
We have both been depleted
Soundly sleeping in disastrous lighting
I won’t be here come dawn
I’ve been raised by your peripheral glances
Scanning over our distinct body posture
I’m saying “I miss you” with a hand on my forehead
You’re yelling, but I can’t read with my eyes blurred
A figure of your persona sits on the dashboard
You fiddle around with it while I look on
Lusting to be between your fingers
I’ll never be your eight legged lover
I wish I could speak to you in voice and paint
But not everyone is as talented
Singing from a mountain range
Producing colors I never dreamed of
In the back of my mind I ponder
If I were to guess, I would have to suspect it to be true
That every word I ever wrote brought me back to you
Each syllable a note, every rhyme a stroke
The general disdain of the situation envisioned itself as a migratory locust, lurking in a bath tub filled with tepid tap water. As that locust swam at a sprint toward the edge of that half completed porcelain cocoon it was pushed under by a stream of new raging liquid. The new water froze its exoskeleton, especially the antennae (oh, now those are quite sensitive indeed). We went down the drain.
