There are traces of our irony in your eyes.

You called yourself a man, swinging on the lion with your frostbitten breath
But I nulled what you said, when I saw that the lion was but a mule, and the frostbite just the smoke from your cigarette

You said you hunted demons in the chasm going down, hunted demons from Hell in the chasm going down
But I saw you selling her things in the pawn shop down on East
Are the demons merely what her illness represents to you?

You whispered in my head that you could save me from this bloody bath
And take away the faucet that I want
But it’s coming back, another promise that you broke
Are those ashes of surprise blanketing the cancer that you smoke?
Remove your shoes at the door, leave her eulogy lying on the dusty kitchen floor

Go ahead and board the escalator; take your musics with you
You are not my savior, not the bargain that I asked for
Just a martyr for whatever cause you decide to kill today

There are traces of our irony in your eyes.

moriahsmiles

Joined April 2009

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Artwork Comments

  • TomWard
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