When you're strung on a tight-rope, what do ya do?
When you can't sleep and you're feeling right blue,
When your tears are hung upon crystalline dreams,
What do ya do?
You face them,
Kiss ***,
Meet them head on,

Sometimes she wishes;
That you would stop talking to  the other lonely souls at the the end of the world.
It cuts like a razor and bites like a knife,
Other times she thinks him rather perverse,
Almost a curse,
Stuck in fine cobwebs,
Trapped in black holes,
You imploded her heart, you're a silly old soul,

You don't feel what you did?
It's a statement, not a question, you know!
Deep in submission, to both their emotions!
She wants to smack you,
For there is a truth,
Which only two know,
That once love was rich,
'Twixt the poet and the *****,

Make you bleed,
Punish you hard for hurting her,
Split your lip, as this you feast,
To feed on your blood, as kisses exist,
Between two weird love children,
Stuck fast in the mists of time!
Immersed in your self,

But she normal, you know,
The woman with the auburn, neatly cut hair,
Who is stupid enough, to have tumbled in love with the poet from London with the  long black greasy hair!
(C) Livvi