After you’ve fallen for that old foolish belief:
That we live In our heads. And in his head we sleep.
It starts to make our secrets just that bit harder to keep.

Even our dreams; Are they ours, or through each others can wee creep?

Can we quench our own thirst upon another’s tears?
Or is the empowerment bitter in its taste?  
So wastefully we throw words in exchange, but so
right it is do so? Who knows he who knows? I envy you so.
For him I went looking, for her I did too. Young pity
fell in and through my pockets, Now I’m lost and need you.
I need you to reveal where the conscious of it all wakes forever.
I need signs to come tumbling, I’ve scoured to long.
I’ve delved past the devil only to write a few songs.
I need reason and poetry, and logic that makes sense.
I need a future that doesn't make the past seem tense.  

Can I belong to a moment with this world as it spins off?
Or is the vanity in wanting to do so decrease my odds.
Well if I could stop that clock from clicking in my head,
I would,
but it proves much to fitting in it’s dark little room,
In which I’m consumed by a rambling of thoughts that stops.
Only to start to gambling with my will as it fills the ceiling to its top.
Now I could drown, or swim back to my life.
Out one room to another, back to baby being mothered.
Colour me yellow, I swam down again.
I’m afraid I can't keep from falling with little poetry in my descent.

The same that had fallen into and through ‘Alisdair’s' pocket.  
The key. The key. Where has it fallen? I’ll scour the place.
I have fallen through this world for it. Now I lay at the bottom.
For amidst my lack of bright wit, with which I did fall.  
I often thought I’d found it. Something to free me, all
but free from everything to a solvable small problem.  
But the bottom is bottomless, as it often was above.
I’ll scour this fallen city, till I’m sour, to find young pity.

She fell into my lap. With the key around her neck.
Not out of nowhere, nor from above or below.
But fell none the less. And so of course I had to check.
I pinched myself twice, but she still lay staring deeply
into my eyes as until her eyes turned sleepily.
And then creepily I wandered through her head while she slept.

I tried to try but my eyes fell heavy into my cheeks.
I am weak, a fallen freak who walks these streets
looking for the future in each turn, but never now do I seek.
Incomplete, I’m an embryo who doesn't want to develop.
I chase stars in the night sky as it falls and I it envelopes.
Though I cherish the downfall like within it there is pride.
I relish your sympathy until it’s intent falls on it side.
Theres no place for me to hide, At the bottom I unite,
with every kind of side of myself, and each I name fright.

The first fright is gentle he understands me better than I.
But his pity is passionless and so I watch his fire die.
Until the second fright turns and tells me I’m a fool.
This I understand though he does not understand me.
“You’re a shell of a boy” adds fright number three.
This I believe I know to be true. After all I cannot fool me & you.

The last bark scares off the little kitties.
The full picture broke into little bitties’.
The horizon fell and crashed upon the cities.
The best friend of man is tired oh his cliche.
But feed him man does. Need him man does.
Him needs mans love. Man’s love needs him.
For he is without  sin while we try play to to win.
We are flawed, He is pawed and simple in step.
Oh the past! Is it tense?
Does the last laugh hold suspense.
Does the fat lady return home once she has sang above us?  
Push came and shoved us. God came down from above us.
But the dog lay still, breath soon did escape, never to return.  
I wonder if amongst this silly feeling I have a lesson to learn.

IS this your tongue twisted round breath from blackened lungs?
Your foul words betray you when you stare down the eye.
I see your nights spent wishing, missing the moments behind you.
But where do I find you? Where in this mess of the masses stress?
You don’t seem to peek from the pockets of your bleak cites.
Nor do you dwell among the sad caves of young pity.
Hit me! Hit me! Like an apple on my head. Hit me!
I need to find you even if what I find is already dead.

We can revive this. Life might flow through us once again.
The pen, as a weapon, once more is being used to defend
The will of times killer,  while the crowds wish him condemned.
We can and will fight for the pride of the distasteful tongues,  
the wasteful young, the collapsing lungs that coughed last words
As they were lead to be hung for the killing of time. Just as the bell rung.

I figured where we fit on this little journey:
     In the middle of the start just as it’s about to end.
     Hire a gun! Hire Gun! Ah’a but can’t we be one?
     Fixed- the fickle have a sickly sweet dream to spend.
     Let them follow breadcrumbs all the way to the sun.
And as the 'fat whites' are watching, we too watch them burn.
    The woken dead poets sleep as we owe them it.
    But yet I feel disgrace as I chase their tongues wit.

   Fright learns a lesson when he hears himself gurn’.  
   Now he’s pouring himself sourly across this page.
   Disgrace! Disgrace! can’t you fit each word in its place.
   Foul taste! Foul taste! my words are forgotten,
         with his forgotten waste.
   But time as it takes, takes my breath slowly with it.  
   Till my last word is winded for another tongue to spin it.

The conscience does creep when wake feels like sleep,
But dreams could have never appeared as such steep
     steep a hill as this woeful wander,
Past the dark caves of pity to where the sad fellow saunters.

With sleepless thought they wake there forever
In the coldest of knot tied apart and together.  

The hollow will follow someone else on this journey.
But we stepped so careless with our caution less selves.
Made a game out of the danger. Got going a wee tourney’  

Past the poets and swore we would return to their shelves.
So far out we fell of some kind of edge they swore disproven.  
Now Down past the devil our story meets us at it delves.

Welcome to the world that stays still as it does its movin’ .
We scribble on each others faces the reasons for our still.
Chill burns, time turns back and forth for the sake of doing.

Have you ever filled yourself much to full upon a fill?
Have you ever dreamed a different morning sun?
Well I found pity- she was sat at the bottom of’a hill.

I begged to bring her home but she had only just begun,
She wanted to hear my head in his bedroom stirring,
But with pity it collapsed him as he heard's sad song sung.

The hill looks less steep, less frightening from the bottom.
Conscious lost himself from me as I came tumbling down.
I could have sworn Id fallen like an apple from tree to turn rotten.  

Everyone who walks here, walks here with crown.