zaterdag 8 januari 2011

THE CERTAINTY OF THE GRAVE

The tree wants you to kiss its bark
What else can I do but love you?
At the end of the day
We’re all prostitutes
Waiting for vices to come in

If I could take the poison
and wash the dirt off my shirt
Love always felt clandestine
From the day of my birth

If I could rip through the membrane
And wipe away the dirt on the smudged glass
I could truly see you
But things remain the same
I’m too inane
Hope’s dying fast

Tear your skin away
See the red muscles
Bear your bones and say
Or sing:
Demising is such a splendid thing
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