You are a heartless scoundrel,
an abortion of men,
a sleight of hand card trick
and I was your con of a lifetime.
You are an evil aberration,
A pervasive mistake
inhabiting the body of an angel.
You have ruined nature,
beauty and all that is good –
For your face is fair,
and your eyes are perfect stars
in the black sky of your heart
and I no longer trust the great sea,
wide forests or butterflies on roses
for they remind me of you.
Coffee and roses beaming through
cracked walls of ivy and stone.
Like wine glasses emptying slowly
bleeding into the floor.
Give me a glass, give me neon.
Give me sultry desire wrapped up in glitter.
Burnt out cars, window tainted sour
driving into the midnight sunset.
Trust me when I say, stay away from the moors,
all that lays there are death and lonely skeletons
Children who won’t grow up,
they lay lost, oh please give me hope.
Smelling coffee and roses,
singing lost stories.
You spend all your days
writing your stolen stoic soliloquies
on your throne made from white roses;
which should be mine.
Dream you dreams of a better world,
where the fire in the core
of your broken world,
dies out, yet we’re still alive.
The earth is at your feet,
following your stupid rules
of hope and good.
Where altruism follows through
and evil was lost and gone.
I forgot a long time ago,
I was the grim antagonist.
The master deceiver,
the treacherous villain.
I’m the evil witch,
who breaks the worlds hearts
with her whore magic,
concocted from dead flowers
and broken desires.
The cynics who sit and smile
were once the dreamers who loved too high,
they got their hearts broken,
fell apart and decided there’s no use trying anymore.
The lost girls who run and dream
want to be in with the cool kids.
They want to kiss the boys who smoke
fairy dust and then take them home,
steal away their pretty innocence,
play with thier hearts and dreaming things.
I sit upon the moors,
waiting for some grandeur cause,
I drink wine till I can’t see,
believing in a fantasy.
Cynical boys and little lost girls.
Let me tell you all I know;
that what’s in your head
those stories playing out,
are the best thing in this broken world.
The drugs taste like broken hearts
and blacking out kills you soul,
and those boys dressed
like James Dean,
your doe eyes
Come on down to the dreaming district,
my name is Bonnie
and I guess you’re Clyde.
Drink it down with a bottle of wine
Or vodka and moonshine,
If your mind can take you that high.
Come on down to the wasteland.
Where sad girls, are turned into
pretty diamonds with cracks ingrained.
They blag their way into hotel rooms
Laying half dead in an broken bed.
Kissing the beautiful felons into freedom
Where were you babe?
When this town we built on dead roses
started falling apart?
The Krays they are dead.
and the filth run the game
And the dreamers who would have
given their lives,
gave up instead.
On the road to hell
There are lost boys dressed like men.
They fall in love with a girl on the screen,
Drinking cheap beer
And dreams of lives
That are just a minute too far away
What these boys
Would give to the girls
They are like vultures
Circling imagined deer,
They want to devour her,
Like a pill
Or a needle filled with heroin.
until she is worth nothing