18 years.
Millions of tears.
Becoming a caricature of yourself.
Little boy blue, hiding inside a hollow tree
.It's because i care and the way i wave.
Personal taste and cut up the gender.
You were always more than tender.

Still like a waters edge.
A sense of no sense and nonsense.
Puddle drunk, a nun to nothing and cross dressing monk.
You cannae hide, seek the tongues that speak.
A riddle of the weak, a bridge that saves both sides from falling away to a mountains edge,
the tiller, distiller lookalike Windy Miller,
converse, adverse no rhyme or reason to build a better will.

Into your arms and hand in hand,
oh your love and fear was still life and calling through thirst and madness that played with sadness threw second hand cupid arrows blind though a state of vain vanity, a ride to torture.

Just be careful on that punch drunk whirlpool that dances on that silent whistle caresses the fear you keep near most of the things you do and say i have already done a hundred times and a standing order that watching ponder the last throw of the heart that silloute beating threat that hangs in motion on a trance candid shallow grave like false tongue tied and novice to scared to touch that talks.

You, you, you yes you.
you ran out of luck.
*******, you, you, yes you.
that smile frozen to a fallen frown,
you will always kneel down and head bowed you, you,you, yes you.
who once turned your back when i cried for mercy, now i see you, oh you, you, you, yes you, *******.

Stand to attention,
stand up sit down take orders,
wishful thinking and another ideal for living sinking on the horizon nothing to prove once was a thing of beauty afraid to touch and hold the measure of pleasure and forgotten treasure that moments fragile handsome fertile prisoner in a prison that prism that constant haunted mirage that darkness betrays a second thirsty to set the wave of another heart broken that echo of another goodbye.

Crucified and left to dwell,
if you had to do it all again, would you?
Hindsight.
a sign that hangs on the gates of hell,
when you see the fires and half measure desires,
how does the pain feel as you cry your,
no surrender,
this place takes you further than pain ,
than torture that burns your heart and your anguish tame no two lifes the same,
a picture postcard of a misspent youth,
both ends burning in a midnight vocation,
burn baby burn,
no return to the familar choir,
as you sink into the fire,
oh i would carry my own cross again and again to feel the warmth of my mother and kiss those cherry holy lips and change the water into wine if i could hold back time and hear st peters bell chime, and hold the chalice and swear to my fathers, father as the flames grow higher, just to hold you one last time my Mary is my hearts desire.