It's an unfortunate thing to say that we place them there up high on their **** stools
To rule and say, Yes. No.

It's an unfortunate thing that one could be so irate when it all goes belly up
Who is to blame?

I say, it is an unfortunate thing to say,  it is us
So long with much done so long with more not undone and it is us to blame, ourselves
And it is an unfortunate thing to say that the grody came out on top and the fool stayed quite..
Or is it so "unfortunate"?

You are my sweet rose of all flower and thorn
In my side on our off days
Of all the work of frustration
Sweet smell of sweat and that
Eye
Brown and round

You look inside me into my soul
Oh how I wish you wouldn't -
I feel cleansed.
You are my heart of gold and silver
My princess,
Go and stop as quick

Trust
Our touch our destiny

I, lying here mind racing
Thinking
dark hair sallow skin rosy checks  

In the shadow of my walls
You..
I see what I don't
I can't see
No light.

I need to know
Man, friend, lover - maybe
I must know
like an unsolved puzzle
The brain and it's tricks

Clockwork.
Mysterious.
I think they call it.

Love.