they come
and they go

like tides
like the moon
and the sun

when they come
they bring wine
they bring smoke
they bring lust and rage

when they go
they leave empty bottles
******* and cigarette butts
earrings in my sheets
and a mouldly taste on my tongue

every once in a while though
they clean up before they go
they take out the trash
and leave little notes on my dresser

when i wake up they are gone
my empty bottles are gone too
and their notes make me feel lonely

its not the way they show up
its the way they leave

i think i prefer the mouldly taste

Well it’s another thrilling weekend,
a nerv-recking blood n’ love blend,
some even say that I’m to blame,
it’s up to me to change the game
yet I keep playing just the same,
my parent’s sin, my hometown’s shame.
I set it up, I pay my dues,
if they were dancers, I’d be blues.

When I lie resting next to her
and think of all that we once were,
I cannot help but reminisce,
about her careful, tender kiss,
and miss the time when we still risked,
to live on *** and joy and bliss.

Now everytime I’m out the door,
this urge is rising more and more,
to run away, never return,
to ride and ride, to burn and burn,
but I just sit and wonder how,
and she gets closer, too close now.

There is a boy on his board and he is out there alone,
looks so peaceful and dizzy from the pills that he’s thrown,
he is drifting off quietly on a surface, so bright,
that all his worries and troubles start to vanish in light.

He never really knew why he’s longing to die,
he’s got his girl at home and too many friends to cry,
but out here in the ocean the sun is burning so strong
and the boy is finally fading at where he always belonged.

While his body is sinking, his whole world’s turning white,
he dives out of his shroud and right into the light.
His final moment on earth has made him happy at last
and as he dies he’s smiling despite the ghosts of his past.

No, it ain’t easy being me.
Though irresponsible for three,
it takes some effort just to be
the careless ***** that you can see.

I hide away, I ditch the stress,
and yet I’m running - out of breath -
from laws and ladies, prudence too,
a living mess, it’s sad but true.

Dear Jack, I sat and read your letter,
these lines of beautiful disaster,
wrapped up in a coat of poetry,
now carved in stone to thrill forever.

Dear Captain, can you smell the dead steam?
Hear the engine’s maddest tunes?
Just beat that slow, old road machine
right to the coast and up the dunes.
Let roadsigns blur, as we drive by,
towards the sun - it’s setting soon -
then make the stars fade in the sky,
and chase the Godess of the Moon.

Dear Brother, I don’t think I’ll make it,
this path is way too rough to take it,
so I sit down and drink and laugh
in sand that’s soaked in blood I cough.
Again I’m trapped, I’m caught in hell,
while snarling lurks our next farewell.

Don’t you see that after all,
  this was never meant to last?
That every turn and every touch
  is nothing but tomorrow’s past?

That even the most grievous days
fade - *****-nilly - overnight,
as dawn and early morning haze
play you their tune and set things right.

And don’t you know that this today,
is soon to be a yesterday?  
So take a shot, bend it your way,
  for it is never meant to stay.