The blush of the river, embarrassed and sorry. My coral princess, i'll be crystal clear; just watch me sneer. Four squares, not of this world, standing tall above countless lives. Walk the bridge and ask these questions: How welcoming are the waves? Is everything black, or is it all just blue? Inevitably tomorrow will come for you. Disillusioned and disassociated my control of existence reinstated.
I see her reflection in the waves, each ripple becoming a beckoning finger.
Put the bag down and call for help? The only way i can control my ravenous lust for she, is to stand atop these railings and understand what it is to be. THERE IS NO BETTER PLACE. My love, washed ashore, but there are no beachcombers when there is no beach; humanity breached. She is gagged and she is bound and I am never to be found. Dead weight, Lead weight. No fate but WHAT WE MAKE.
A cancer of the conscious; I'm a godless libertine, at least my shoes will soon be clean. Fishing for fingers in the fluff of my pockets, every fisherman becomes a master of his bait. Eyes and teeth, the most photographed; the most common path, away from her. Magnetic waters pull lambs to the slaughter. Silhouettes and pixel tell melancholy tales of their little lost black sheep. The flock, failed by their handless clocks. Infantile hypnosis, paranoid psychosis or the meeting of noses. SHE JUST CONTINUES TO PLAY HER PIPE. Freedom and flowers, or flee and just be?
It's a long way down, but my transience transcends the waters surface. Young lovers, expectant mothers, beloved brothers; all now sleep with the wishes. Dot dot dot, holding hands we rot. Nothing is real behind this screen, I feel nothing when I hear that scream. Nothing is real behind this lens, so what is so wrong with using these waters to cleanse? I beg you requite, you reciprocate; and give me the keys to the golden gate.
I see her reflection in the waves, each ripple becoming a beckoning finger.
Put the bag down and call for help? The only way i can control my ravenous lust for she, is to stand atop these railings and understand what it is to be. THERE IS NO BETTER PLACE. My love, washed ashore, but there are no beachcombers when there is no beach; humanity breached. She is gagged and she is bound and I am never to be found. Dead weight, Lead weight. No fate but WHAT WE MAKE.
A cancer of the conscious; I'm a godless libertine, at least my shoes will soon be clean. Fishing for fingers in the fluff of my pockets, every fisherman becomes a master of his bait. Eyes and teeth, the most photographed; the most common path, away from her. Magnetic waters pull lambs to the slaughter. Silhouettes and pixel tell melancholy tales of their little lost black sheep. The flock, failed by their handless clocks. Infantile hypnosis, paranoid psychosis or the meeting of noses. SHE JUST CONTINUES TO PLAY HER PIPE. Freedom and flowers, or flee and just be?
It's a long way down, but my transience transcends the waters surface. Young lovers, expectant mothers, beloved brothers; all now sleep with the wishes. Dot dot dot, holding hands we rot. Nothing is real behind this screen, I feel nothing when I hear that scream. Nothing is real behind this lens, so what is so wrong with using these waters to cleanse? I beg you requite, you reciprocate; and give me the keys to the golden gate.
