Your hellos are as meaningless as my goodbyes

For there is much beauty in arson - it is blind and love is blind and all id

But beauty is no longer in the eye of the beholder it lies behind the doer it is nice to be in love but uncomfortable to be loved

It is not in our blood to be loved you ask? Not if a blind man doesn't love back

My love, I'm burning down your temples. I am blind.

You need not look to the skies and see who we all are. You need not but be my saint, my lord. We are our own religion.

Need not burn for we are all half-unsmoked cigarette butts and I am waiting for my great wind to be lit