night after night. a song after another. you knocked on the sylvan corners of the poems of mercy. winter never forgave you, and never did the hours… which dropped every minute in a glass of paranoia. the moon, your third eye. you plucked it, an august evening, from the corner of the sky. it bleeds now, like any other rebel, like any other sacrifice. remove it. dare. let it heal.
your music grows old every season, betrays you, (you dance like a puppet to the tunes of betrayal and apology) reflections everywhere. and the hangman dreams…here, your destiny
(remember) the poet’s prophesy. the poet’s curse.
feel the wicked navel of this city. run your fingers upon its hungry skin. every turn here, hides a new memory for you. every street light, a new story.
time makes love. you weep on the shoulders of pale, imaginary silences.
awaken this mutant night. bribe freedom with the perfume of your breathe. lay your sins on a bed of wine and cards. Stir. Reveal. Kiss. Feel. Surrender. And the flickering candlelight records.