The layers peel
With a severe ease
Sub-dermal lament rides
Desire

Peeling

Cracking drafts of promises
Too familiar, too simple
Latent memory unveiled
Need

Peeling, peeling

Like dead skin from a sunburned thigh.

No. It's an impudent falsehood. Men did not
Invariably think the newer way Prosaic
mad, inelegant, or what not.

Was the first pointed arch esteemed a blot
Upon the church? Did anybody say How
modern and how ugly? They did not.

Plate-armour, or windows glazed, or verse fire-hot
With rhymes from France, or spices from Cathay,
Were these at first a horror? They were not.

If, then, our present arts, laws, houses, food
All set us hankering after yesterday,
Need this be only an archaising mood?

Why, any man whose purse has been let blood
By sharpers, when he finds all drained away
Must compare how he stands with how he stood.

If a quack doctor's breezy ineptitude
Has cost me a leg, must I forget straightway
All that I can't do now, all that I could?

So, when our guides unanimously decry
The backward glance, I think we can guess why.

Watch them sleeping.
Watch them slowly drift away.
Does it feel like creeping?
Cause you're never there when they awake.

It takes patience to make a replacement
But she erased my face,
and hid the photos in the basement.  

Oh if I was to be real enough.
Oh if I was to be real enough

I'd grab her by the scruff of the neck,
lay her on the deck. And
Go back to protecting her.

Oh If I was to be real enough.
Oh If I was to be real enough.

Not just a ghostly little gasp of air

Me?
I eat embers of sunshine for breakfast
and wash them down with rain clouds.

When I met tragedy
She was beautiful
Like bleeding wrists
And dead daydreams

When I met tragedy
I fell in love
Her watery eyes
Her blue lips

But Soon,
She faded,
A sinking ship
A full moon
A rose's thorns in bloom

Gone was my apathy
...When I met tragedy...