Friday, April 10, 2009

Patch Your Tribe...

Hate to wake, with a cold you can't cure,
Flap your arms & clap your wings,
You can't fly away from most of this,
Clip your roses & trim away the pretty things.
The spaces I often want you to fill,
Are no longer vacant, they've been booked out,
Deposits paid by memories, I just pretend,
Something warm is there instead,
Replacing thoughts of you, as if you'd care,
You'd say it to all the others too,
I'm the fool, entertain the Court, perform for your King,
Ring my bells & fire pistols, let the explosions ring,
Revolt, SING! Collapse, SING!
Touching strings that make sounds so sweet,
Give you comfort when you can't win,
Give you warmth without the heat,
Give you light not bright but dim.

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