nighttime phantoms of birds swoop low through the breeze,
greeting bats with sweet melodies and mingling in the trees.
not only do their songs tingle the ears of few,
but they are gone with the moon and the mid-morning dew.

You finally found someone who understands you more than I,
so I guess I will be saying my final goodbye.

When the night will dawn,
the departed will be looked on.
With them will be I,
whispering in your ears a spooky lullaby.

I wish the nights never end,
cause our bond needs to be amend.
I will sit right next to you,
all the nights through.

Bite off more than one can chew.
Your nights I will haunt.
Black and blue to flaunt.
We will always be together,
my hand holding tight to your death tether.

I think she is made of clay. She doesn’t eat or drink. Sometimes she cries a tear for me. Never for us. I shower her in kisses, silk dresses, in jewels. She does not move from her place above my bed. She doesn’t even smile. It isn’t about me but it is. I was too late. I was not enough. I am left with loss and a memory and jewels multiply in my hands so I stuff them in the caves of her collarbones. Her. Not her. A crown appears above my pillow. The clock’s last golden tear slips into the sewage pipe. I ***** rubies and the door does not open anymore. I am the mine and the miner and you are the Madonna, a treasure chest of blood and breath. You are a taker. You drain me. Diamond teeth glint in the streetlamp shadows. I cannot sleep unless in blackness. Suspended over my bed you are the afterfumes of all my dreams. Sometimes I break the spell and you shatter on the floor. I weep, I stamp until my feet are starry pulp, I fall and it is a dance. Quartz grows in crystals in my throat. It is hard to speak. I weave you a new silk dress from rain that falls from the ceiling. I will you back to life. I ask you to forgive me. I forget you are a puppet. In the evening a soft green tear lands on my cheek. It isn’t mine. A crown appears above my pillow. I do not know who it is for.

Sometimes I think we built Rome just so we could burn it down
Made a makeshift Mt Olympus just to find some common ground
Went to trial in Salem but we didn't hang around
Then took the train to nowhere back into that old ghost town.

Where the lover's always lonely in a house that's not his home
And the loner's got a lady but he'd rather be alone
The one's become malicious while the other one gets ******
But you see they both agree what's done is done and gone

That's where I met an angel with eyes that glow at night
In summer they'd be fireworks, in winter Christmas lights
No golden ring above her head or pair of wings in sight
The sunshine is her halo and she's higher up that flight

I guess that's when I settled in with men that played the blues
Dimensions crossed and I got lost in search of happy news
But all I find is how much time I've spent inside the shoes
Of someone I can hide behind afraid to pay my dues

This memory revisited, this page already turned
Has made me finally realize some history books don't burn
Yes retrospects a lesson and experience is earned
But if you don't move forward then the lessons less than learned

i've got you on edge
you've got me by the blade

deep down in my head
we're still not yet awake

something here is dead
stains we cannot erase

sometimes i'd like to forget
violence i cannot escape

between tears we shed
we've made ourselves a lake

and the water's still red
painted blue by our mistake

the rot in you has set
and i can see the lights fade

reflecting secrets we've kept
and i can see them on your face

even though we've just met
there are feelings i cannot fake

since i've tasted your dread
i cannot let ghosts go to waste

and the demons i've fed
dance naked on this empty page

even though we've just met
nobody else can take your place

The words are twisting around me,
wringing me out like a wet towel.
The tune is stretched and thin
as if it's an ode to the last of my happiness.
It speaks to me almost as loud
as the ghosts screaming in my ears,
except the unprescribed medication
I drown myself in
doesn't keep it out of my head.
I have to remind myself daily --
they don't know you
they don't care about you
the words aren't sung about you.
But how could they not,
when they ring so true?
How can they not
when my stomach turns
to the time of the music,
when the tears leak out of my eyes
the same way the last notes
leave the guitar?
How can they not
when they're the only bridge to reality
I have left?

She rises in the Blue Ridge mist,
her Gothic presence quite tall,
spirits of the legendary Vanderbilts exist,
they whisper within the regal halls,
when humble slob me does pass-
I wish to mingle with these ghosts of high class.