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Monday, March 13, 2006 - ore 18:02
(categoria: " Vita Quotidiana ")
Vacate is the word...vengeance has no place so near to her
Cannot find the comfort in this world
Artificial tear...vessel stabbed...next up, volunteers
Vulnerable, wisdom can’t adhere...
A truant finds home...and I wish to hold on...
But there’s a trapdoor in the sun...immortality...
As privileged as a whore...victims in demand for public show
Swept out through the cracks beneath the door
Holier than thou, how?
Surrendered...executed anyhow
Scrawl dissolved, cigar box on the floor...
A truant finds home...and I wish to hold on, too...
But saw the trapdoor in the sun...
Immortality...
I cannot stop the thought...I’m running in the dark...
Coming up a which way sign...all good truants must decide...
Oh, stripped and sold, mom...auctioned forearm...
And whiskers in the sink...
Truants move on...cannot stay long
Some die just to live... ohh...
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