The places we hide under For sanctimonious pleasure If it fits, it sits, little sisters So don’t get cold hands on me For our feet will burn elsewhere Pious, but intuitive sensations Receieved for all of us Here in our makeshift cubby Underground
The faces we hide from For sacrilegious fervor From one scene to another We’ll be the last ones left Here in our makeshift cubby Under the ground
This travel refreshes the eyes Even if it is the same view Day in and night out Doesn't take away its beauty
A journey marked by swans That runs seaside then turns riverside and adjourns right side See, it's a journey burned behind my eyes
It is between the swans that I can think And not think This is my safe house and I'm a habitual criminal Stowing away in this liminal place Taking a rest from being arrested for too much stress
I will never tire of these travels Each sunrise and full moon Falling that little bit more in love Pupils dilating as the eyes refresh
Bird flirting with death. In a deadly dance on the train line. Train coming. Woo woo, Fly past. And I find myself musing towards immortal fantasy. My imagination picks up images that no man shall ever see. Precious images won't be the death of me, nor the tiny little bird, Sweet, Dicing with death on the line that's electric. He'll live to see another day, Wahey. (c)LIVVI
