The life we live.
Dressed to successfully get away with murder
Drew a line in the dirt, took it further
Crossed like the Cypress and Cedar of the crucifix
Expose the blade when I walk just to transfix the lunatics
Once a frontrunner, shift, the back burner
This broken spined book ain’t much of a page turner
Turn off the water, sleep on the floor
No signs of the lost cause, we at war
More of the same, daybreak to dusk
Misguided by moonlight and distrust
I call it love. They call it tragic.
I burn through the days with matchsticks and magic
Has it, been that long? Moments frozen
Holes in, the golden, lining, It’s broken
Alone in, the bottle, staring at God
With an apathetic hand on my sword
when I die, bury me in a pine box. no shoes, no suit, no sheets.
just a not from me to my maker, that reads “am I finally free?”.