i follow a lonely, maybe just alone,
woman down the street
     watching her
as she glances at shop windows
or maybe she's taking a peek
at her reflection

i don't know why i follow her
maybe it's to see where she goes
   maybe it’s to take a glimpse into her life...

does she meet with friends
   have a lover
does a dog greet her at the door
   or is there a sick mother
in constant demand of something
   maybe a beer bellied husband
stinking of filth, ***** & sweat
   who gets his kicks
   out of smacking her around

                     or

maybe she's alone
   living a life
devoid of restrictions
     commitments
        permissions
& approval
a life that allows her
to wander the streets at any time
absently glancing into shop windows

a life empty of love?

There are no ancient swords to aid in this,
nor prophets pointing the way,
no magic rings to find in dark caves,
nor a sleeping host awaiting the call.

Under the mists of time,
the faces worn in the light,
and the fears in the night,
still we stand and fight.

There are no keys to hidden doors,
nor waystations upon the road,
no mountains which to climb,
nor holy refuge to stumble upon.

Under the mists of time,
the faces worn in the light,
and the fears in the night,
still we stand and fight.

There is no face to the dark,
nor name to cry out to within it,
no blessing that I can give you,
nor any promise I can make.

Under the mists of time,
the faces worn in the light,
and the fears in the night,
still we stand and fight.

break for riff

Under the mists of time,
the faces worn in the light,
and the fears in the night,
still we stand and fight.

How can I be what you need?
How can I fight the past without weapons?
How can I hold you in the dark and make it go away?

There is no quest to be had,
save the one that takes me to you,
no battle worth fighting,
except to fight for you.

So much said and done,
so much unsaid and undone,
lost here now, lost within and without.

Under the mists of time,
the faces worn in the light,
and the fears in the night,
still we stand and fight.

When the music stops,
It's time for me to get up
And walk on out.

And when the sun sets
Over this beach we live on,
I've always got to go on.

For five years, it was OK
Being alone, being needed
But not doing the needing.

Guess it doesn't really matter,
Since I sure can write like
It does, but writing is just words.

These days though, after the last
Year spent belonging somewhere,
Being part of a crew and a crowd....

Someone throws on the Stones,
In walks the ghost of where I know
I'm headed no matter what I do.

Yeah, here I am now, exactly who I
Thought I wanted to be, living my
Own rules, beholden to no one.

And ya know what, it's made a great
****** story, something I always wanted to read, the kind of story your's is too.

Sure hasn't been as much fun
Living it as I thought it might be,
Finding you in your driveway,
And I was too drunk to be who
You honestly needed me to be.

Eventually I'll get my **** together.
I won't be able to do it at the rate
you may want, and for that I'm sorry.

To be honest I'm just as sick of this scene as you are, maybe more.

It has a certain appeal though, a certain flavour, a cut loose and not give two flying ***** about anything taste...

It's twenty minutes to Midnight,
almost time for me to hate myself again.
Twenty minutes, and the clock is ticking
till I'll be hunted by you again.

Already I can smell you creeping,
taste you slithering up and out
of the past like some broken nightmare.

Some nights you've got the upper hand,
and others I can hold my own ground,
but neither of us can seem to outright
vanquish the hope in the other.

Were it fated for you and I,
to battle on for all eternity,
it just may be that I could jive,
nay, savy and roll with that.

But you, you've been putting your hooks
into my love's and my dear ones,
you've been putting your ****
in holes that don't belong to you.

Haunting hearts in need of repairs,
forcing your crooked smile
and your fingers made of knives
into places bleeding enough without you.

Come then, if monster enough ye may be,
to face me fully and let us end this
macabre dance in the old way,
have at me, and leave her to the
quiet love of the light of day.