One plus one is two, Four plus five is nine, I hope you feel this too, But I want to make you mine. It may not be accurate. Like 3.14 is pi, But like infinity is never ending, Like my longing. For when we're together, Like 7,8,9. I want to stay with you forever.
Shout out to gf, love ya! You're wayyy better at maths than me!
The curtains have risen. The actors changed their personalities. The stage has started to shine. Yet one boy did not wat to put on the mask. Yet the audience was missing. Yet the theater was a flat.
It's so awful to see the people be so double-edged. Hate being among them. Take me away.
If you gave me a gentle push, I'll travel further. If you gave me a gentle push, I'll travel faster. If you gave me a gentle push, I'll travel quicker.
We slipped into our socks, eyes were closed Soaking boldly within us, acedia's warm coat View the clement fate, endless reaches cold Every step lead to atrophy past the belt post __
City's first pinching, whipped us into a storm They pin down our wings so we'd conform Every breath is an option to plummet or soar Yet like a moth, i'm drifting down to the floor
They all gather to the deadhouse Like actors taking to a well trodden stage Whether from London's' Kings Cross Or the finery of NYC's Queens borough Back to the fold all prodigal sons must return To join with those that could never find a way From this barren cold land and its insular bitter lies All united now in a grief of one that has been lost All divided by a rivalry, a rumor, some generational feud The priest commences his weary and over versed tone As he summons his God, his Jesus and his Litany of Saints Incense burns as a symbol of the prayer of the faithful rising Yet rising no further than their hypocrisy descends
And where do you look when even Jesus lets you down As you turn to wipe that burning tear from your face One not born from holy water nor from their devils grace
Doors are opened and a captive audience awaits A procession of mourners to take their turn to the stage Heads bowed all and one, as hands are extended In weak and feeble grips amid their mumbled exchanges "Sorry for your loss" and "taken too soon" None hesitate too long as they navigate this fallowed room An occasional recognised face among a community of strangers A moment of warmth emanating from this ritualistic parade All gone too soon unlike those memories of years past Of wanting to get out and get free, promising never to go back Yet to the last of this line they swear that they remember you well Whilst retiring to The Old Stand with promise of more stories to tell
Where the whiskey chasers flow like the Guinness on draught Helping to swallow the lies on how good it is to be back Rehashing of old platitudes but nothing really said