Sunday, February 26, 2012

Old Flames XV: A City Without Sidewalks (For The Streets)

Oh captain, my captain, what ever did happen? We were at the bottom of the sea of a beer bottle symphony. Oh dreaded, how dreaded, getting drunk in Davy Jones's locker. My goddess, you goddess, this was the last meal I cooked my last day for. This grave, this grave, oh, what can I save?

This fire, what fire? Oh, spray-paint the mire! It's tragic, so tragic, what's left of our word. Our bond, our bond, our brass knuckle bond, what did they say about our knucklehead band? Miss City, my city, please show me your pity. We have subway cars to catch, so we can die in a rut. Merry, ha - marry, I be the anarchist whim, that never did swim well through a bar that served gin.

A joke, what joke? I gave 'em hell and it's me that must tell the world's longest joke that never truly ends. So give me the dagger and wager your swagger, so we can drag the lake for fingerprint clues. A mess me, why mess me, this be the only mess we see. Tragic, this relic, born of the old world that never got sick. So us now, go now, we have to stay here to bury our dead. Bury your head. What flood has fled?

This drum, this war, this christ, this danger, this laughter, this gun, this future, this past, this present of a dying god - may this be the only peace. Kill the lights. Most wolves are abound. But thank goodness we've got the only grins in town.

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