I feed you the bacon, that the Corporal made. He could pilot a falcon to the home of the brave.
Well his hands take no sinning,
Like your eyes stricken white.
You were born and forgotten
On a Saturday night.
I count the brandings, o'er the tower's achy call,
In this land of poor mothers, you could quiet your shrill.
If you're rustling and shaking, like a need for The blues.
You better flag down the night sky, for just a Taste of the moon.
Any one can take a gargoyle, as a treat, or a sin.
Until you step aside girl, you'd better not count
On a win.

In a state of confusion, you're the governor of Pain. So let down your hair child, or throw your  thoughts towards forgettin'. I could be weary, or I could be wrong. But tomorrow I'll be farther, farther than a telephone's call.

I'll take the whip, and the hammer, just to cross
Myself supine. I could wrestle up some supper. I could retake a swift sublime. Any outfit I'm donning, it's as black as could be. For the funerals off, do not count on your grief. Do not count on your nightmares, don't rely on your dreams. If you waste your time blinking, you could find your eyes lying. The world turns more quickly, when you're heart-break is live.

I've run and I've rambled. Like a soldier I was caught sporting a grin.
I can hear the wolves Howling,
It's the music that's playing.
Once I was a coward,
Now I'm a scout for the fear.
All that was in question,
All that was too heavy to bare.
You are the coin's flip, fueled by fashion and Law. Till the death comes to part you, and the Men come to call.

While your brother claims writing, over silence and grief.
Take your eyes for a peddling, a chance to take some relief.

And while you are writing, just come for a call. Quiet your longing, some folks were never meant to come at all.