I often find myself staring in awe of immortal things. Though my hands haven't always been there, they have always been there for me. And though I can't fully grasp the concept, I know one day my hands will be gone. Or at least the molecules will be changed to some other form. Maybe ash, or maybe dirt. Maybe my hands will be the fuel for some tree when I die, a tree that will be cut down for paper for a guy who has enough talent to write words that actually make people cry. Maybe not. Yet somehow I feel young, a lie made true by the pain I feel in my shoulders, like the old man inside is pacing back and forth on them not at all happy with how many more decades he'll have to wait before he can finally come out saying,"Ahh...now my shoulders really hurt." I just hope my old man has cool hair when he comes, and cool hair when he dies.

Your memory is a whip my love,
It strikes my heart raw and ******,
The halls of my mind ring with my screams,
The simmering steam of my emotion seeps through my skin,

Why so beautiful her fleeing grace?
Do my fingers resemble claws to you?

I never sought but to love her,
Still I sink in failure in this lonely place,
My tenebrific weather returns to hold me,
The clouds of my mind drown me, choke me in the gale,

Storms **** me, but never fast enough,

Lights out,

The night does not reward rebellion,

Feral creatures wait in your heart,

Lights out,

No end will raise your rotten form,

A monster is what you are,

Lights out,

You cast aside the eyes of man,

Buried your body before you ran,

Lights out,

Now close your eyes little demon,

For you dance with the devil tonight,

Lights out,

I own a little blue boat,
And I lay in shade through night and day,
I lay in wait for my heart and pray,
To the god inside of my hopeless boat,

Where oh where have you drifted yet?
Where oh where did your sail set?
You said you would return to me,
My love in all my heresy,

But I have seen from a god inside,
I have seen my love has lied,
Rage at sea...and burn my boat...
To hate do I my life devote,

What has your son become?
What is a man but another hole,
Wanting and needing the world,
Does your son want for anything?

Monsters crawl and hide in shadow,
Is your son a creature of the night?
Does his heart bleed for the wanting?
Does nothing fill his nothing and bring him..

Nothing...

Did they take everything?
Did they take everything from me?