I love the way a light breeze consumes me Early in the morning, as birds chirp, and traffic growls And the cigarette smoke nestled deep in my lungs Offers me death and a brief episode of pleasure.
Flashback to a youth of chaos Created to incite visions Of ancient hedonistic poets Who were quick to fall in love,
And fell they did.
We read them late at night, Bodies all sprawled out on an ash-covered floor With all the lights on In Bruno's crack den. Only the humble sounds of light breathing, lighters sparking, And pages turning, could be heard within those walls. Anywhere else it did not matter.
We would stock up on poison With Woodrow's warehouse money, And we would search for songs that represented us.
We made a pact that we would consume and be prolific and destruct before old age.
It's years later now.
I'm the only one who broke that pact, While they are all clay and bone fragments and haunting memories.