His whistling rises with the moon;
softened trills and murmurings
grow louder in the dusking sky,

drift across my ceiling, down
into my waiting ears.

A halo of satisfaction rings his face,
sweat drying on his chest
as he leans back upon my balcony.

I gather his things
and place them by the door.
I know this tune is not meant for me.

But I listen to it, still,
and dream of my hands
tangled in his soft feathers.

Who will sing me to sleep
when the nightingale is paired?

Sometimes when God closes a door
You're stuck in the room

Conseptuluze
Conception dies
Those heavy hips and light brown thighs
Those bright red lips and sky blue eyes
Have made him look up to the skies
And then he stops and there he cries
The truth gives way as down he lies
He just gave up his enterprise

The grown man is a boy who tries
To love the girl no compromise
Who loves him first without disguise
And lays with him till sun does rise

But then she left him for a prize
He lays in grass and waves at flys
He sinks still lower from his highs
His girl is gone he couldn’t arise
She left him to his own demise

And he’s alone
So far from home
Not one to care
No one to share
He’s still alone
No place his home

So he lays on the grass and he cries his eyes dry
And he wipes off his tears
And he gives up the years
And he stands in the wind and he walks to the door
Opens it up and he looks in the house
Closes the doors now he’s stuck in the room
Sits on the floor as he lays in the tomb

And his fists start beatin
And his heart starts bleedin
Then the room falls apart as he falls on his head
And his tomb opens up its the dawn of the dead
The energy is breakin in
There is no time for takin in
The moment is medicinal
The opening old windowsill
The life he has is underway
There’s no more time to sit and pray
The beast is risin from the grave
Forgetting of the girl who gave
Forgiving all her precious ways
The old man's reached his end of days
The new man he has just begun
And so stands against the flame
the song of him is still unsung

Unsung

And there he goes
And there he goes
And he goes
And then he’s gone
And then he’s gone
And he’s gone
And he’s not wrong
And he’s not wrong
And he’s wrong

Rip the saintly halo
From above your hallowed brow
To see how it obscured
A deep satanic vow
As through your skull are sprouted
                   Two twisted bony horns:
A rose no more disgracing
A beautiful stem of thorns

This loop of unending unity
for the moment I put it on,
            never has it left the
digit of my palm..

mostly due to the time of
our unity I have gained many
               a pound, and my
sticks became sausage fingers.

though it has bent it has never
       broken like our unity.
We mould to the changing of time..

And I still love you more than when
                     I put this halo of
love upon my palm....