The dark demons in my head
Would all proclaim,
The pain is dead
The shot so hard
The price so high
As gawking, ghoulish grins
Come forward to flaunt
The chains emasculating me
In wild, ecliptical regressions
Pressuring my senses
To lie in a calm
That no longer exists
The needles of my peace
Frustrate my confidence, sublime
As i await the restoration of my sanity
The renaissance of my agility
So i squander reality
Like a cyclone
About to unfold
A devastation
This whirling charade goes on
Until the hours
Have long passed their bedtime
The magic of the wasted clowns
Begins....
If i share with you my story
Will you tell a different tale?
For what I am about to say
Would cost my heart
The tears i’ve cried in vain
But i must tell it just the same
Do not close your eyes
Nor cover your ears
If the pretty pictures fade
For there will surely be
Devils where i come from
Within my room
Inside my head
When the magic drugs me
To sleep
Dreams are often dark and deep
Sorry slumbers shattering
A shivering soul
Predestined to meet its end
Where drunken cannibals blend
Into a wretched scenario
Of an afternoon in hell
There is no awakening
Once the reason is shed
There is no truth
To the demons in my head
No truth at all
About what they said
No truth at all
That the pain is really dead
It never was
And never will be...
Once the magic of the
Wasted clowns
Start to begin..
For: Kurt Cobain
1997
