i am a god lying in my own meadow under the sky i created i'm monumental and i will outlive everyone
but my mind is clouded and full of ice-cold sheet lightning sometimes daydreaming about finger-banging alone in my dingy room i speak to walls with the lungs of the wind my scratchy pen filling poetry books that no one wants to read
but you said i have the type of personality disorder that you admire and you're just looking for someplace to snooze and cuddle out of reach of the witching wind
well i'm the only man left the storm took everyone else and i was born in a magnetic desert at the edge of the world
all of the sudden i'm burning up fences and breaking up labyrinth walls to find you in a lush garden i hardly remember under a tall willow tree long black hair streaming across your face and bare chest
you make something in me leap and sing remember i told you i have a type and it's complete annihilation under the wet rose of your latin kiss