Bang!
Bang!
A Song
A Dance
Hold my hand
Dance
~dance
Sing
~sing
Close your eyes
Laugh out loud
I'll weave for you
That secret place
A net to catch you in
To fall down
Sleep infinite
Cold
Ice Cold
Eyes closed
Mouths Laughing
We'll Laugh at them ~ For asking too much
For believing infantile lies
Laughing with you
Eyes shut for you
For making up our hearts into
Stone.
Stone cold now
To cool your burning heart.
Ice cold just for you
Bang ~
Laugh with me again
Bang ~
Sing for me one last time
Ashes
. . . . . Ashes
We
All
Fall
Down
Monday, February 23, 2009
Little White Lie
Little white spider scaling the wall,
Can i beg your ear for a tale quite tall?
Build me a web and I'll pay you with a fly.
I'll clear out the truth to make room for your lie.
Petite araignée, don't take too long.
Kleine weiße Spinne, spin for my tongue.
There is folds of silk for you to weave.
Your will is done, your web they believe.
What a complexity of silk and grace.
Born from such a small space!
Your beautiful web, my Lite vitspindel,
Is perfect in every form, silver and vile.
What is this a hole in my snare?
It's only a rip as thin as a hair.
I think it's still vicious, my wenig netz.
So I'm throwing it out, place your bets.
I was hoping to be the one to ensnare.
Your web, prédateur minuscule,
Now floats in the air.
I should have repaired the hole in our trap.
For now it will fail us with merely a snap.
What's that you say, kline huntress?
Why do you laugh so high?
You made my web, now i distress
For I have not a single fly.
I must pay you my debt.
For I owe to the Witwer.
The only possession I have left from my lies
Is myself, inside, the life force that dies.
Ich werde die Fliege.
Mi trasformo in nel mosca.
Je deviens la mouche.
I become the fly.
Can i beg your ear for a tale quite tall?
Build me a web and I'll pay you with a fly.
I'll clear out the truth to make room for your lie.
Petite araignée, don't take too long.
Kleine weiße Spinne, spin for my tongue.
There is folds of silk for you to weave.
Your will is done, your web they believe.
What a complexity of silk and grace.
Born from such a small space!
Your beautiful web, my Lite vitspindel,
Is perfect in every form, silver and vile.
What is this a hole in my snare?
It's only a rip as thin as a hair.
I think it's still vicious, my wenig netz.
So I'm throwing it out, place your bets.
I was hoping to be the one to ensnare.
Your web, prédateur minuscule,
Now floats in the air.
I should have repaired the hole in our trap.
For now it will fail us with merely a snap.
What's that you say, kline huntress?
Why do you laugh so high?
You made my web, now i distress
For I have not a single fly.
I must pay you my debt.
For I owe to the Witwer.
The only possession I have left from my lies
Is myself, inside, the life force that dies.
Ich werde die Fliege.
Mi trasformo in nel mosca.
Je deviens la mouche.
I become the fly.
Monday, February 16, 2009
The Road Not Taken...
hoping that there's more for you...
hoping you don't become a statistic
promising to make it work...
&
working to keep that promise ♥
Taglines
divorce,
Letters to the world,
love,
marriage,
promises