I am afraid of what I've made myself.
I am a Demon, you're beliefs 'n your loves
are enemies.
I've tried so hard to leave behind the
memories of what once was so
precious: emotion, wrathe, **** and wicked
lit like wicks and taken through
Daytona dark, the strip we marched, the
palms looked like black fireworks.
The ocean sang, the handclaps rang and waned,
and Bobby talked to me for hours. But
in the end I still felt alone, fell quiet,
the handclaps rang and waned.