Come and bathe with me,
A touch by the passionate moon
Milky white and full of grace,
The touch of skin to a fridged stone.
Hush,
Let the raindrops about your head
sing you a lullaby
Slowly fade back,
far from harm
Take a breath and gaze into the cavernous sky
Slipping back
Caught in my neurotic arms.
Watch the bloody sky
Avoid the look in my eyes
My eyes...
The moon,
stare at it,
for it is not for you
Deep in the decay of summer.
You laughed and smiled
Preferring the materialistic decay
Counting each death toll of the day
But in the shadows,
watching the figurines entwine
Perfection reigned,
Like psychedelic Vines
Up slowly the granite wall
open your eyes
You have come to face me,
the end is near.
Come and sing with me,
chant the decaying melody
Swim futilely against the current of the dead symphony
You shut me out,
so shallow,
so decayed as a whole
That as you sit in your void,
praising the dark
You ignore me
and push me away.
But you would never understand what I stole.
Should there be a God,
Then he must hate me,
watching me weave this pinpricked blanket
in the velveteen sky.
As though they would never see you again
I shut my eyes
Because these thoughts,
are the fear within them.
If your sunset fleets my love,
leaves me behind in a cold night,
Then surely he has forsaken us.
His Sun,
God's sun,
is dead.
I killed it with a brisk,
a satin touch of my malformed hand.
The satin,
The softness has forever tainted his setting.
We no longer prevail,
no longer have the strength,
or the magnitude
To strike and ignite,
the passion of the darkness
Or to slowly disolve it in the vitriol.
We pray,
but in the horrible darkness
there is no light
No light to redeem ourselves,
no light for forgiveness
There is no meaning to life,
This is the end.
You let me fly for a while,
let me play on the hope to find something,
But I am a child,
a Daughter of the hate.
I am the cold Hate-Monger
Stripped and wiped clean
of ever excuses that seemed real.
I whore sex,
using and abusing it,
mistrusting it and purifying it.
Let me soar,
just let me be free,
let me escape the reality in naught but your arms.
I am but a child,
the cold daughter,
Head out the window,
smoking up the storms of tomorrow,
Using the night and stars as my ashtray.
If I turn my head,
in the neighbors house is a white light,
Through a solemn red curtain,
shadows moving and meshing,
and I know that my fears have come true,
The end is here...
