Syringe old lady
tell him all the mindstuck stinkings
the band cannot play for the grass of fire
but even if, step up on, I'll take you tomorrow
if he spoke another word of the comic ideals he loved
will somewhat blacken

He was lightning to the spirits around him
dark hair and very pale
time to go he says
construed, a confused male
his volume when he points his finger
blindly touches my arm

White with imagination
he strikes another tale
for which I am hungered
to feast upon this bale
his movements in the night time darkness
theatrical without moving
words without saying
ticking without time

The daze of another myth
he explains immensely
watching him exalts me
touching himself up for tomorrow
he turns around without fear
says, I'm just another for them to block out

His last time, the flutter of anger
the sadness below him
the creaky wooden hall
he walks without knowing if he will die in the future
survive me and survive anything, everything, always
 
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