Wednesday, 21 March 2012


There he goes again,
Not thinking with his head,
The fire inside, his guide,
Fuels the hurt he hides instead.
On the run again, bitter black and grey
The silent moan at night,
It's downhill all the way

Sheets of cold damp darkness
Where her body once lay.
And as crisp as stars on high
His guilty thoughts do prey
On his mind again, like a heavy weight
Oh for a knife
To cut them all away

So far so good, not the falling
But what happens when you land.
And the peaceful sleep he keeps
Been brushed aside by the devil's hand
And from those shrouded hills, upon these streets to roam
To find her
And his one true home

Like a runaway
Riding on an empty train
But he still feels the same
As he did yesterday
That all the world's to blame

1 comment:

  1. Cheer up mate. It's nothing a good bogle dance can't fix...


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