I kept that paper that was scribbled on,
Where logic and dreams held on
I couldn't even tell them apart.
For it had just rained memories
And melodies, and that faint spell of love
For my heart delved into rhythm
Even as it was so empty.

Thoughts rose like balloons
From that library of ideas
That no one knew existed.
It spoke of quietude, the whispering nights
That had known smoke and scotch and wet kisses.

Where crime felt freeing,
And wrong felt right,
The rebel's paradise.
I got that tattoo at three in the morning
For pain was my medicine.
I spoke the words that burnt my skin,
'Only the heart knows what's right.'

When ink is in motion, the darkness flows
Like a river stripped of all it's life.