White (song)

I break to often
I break to soon
is to damn easy with a needle and a spoon
I break so easy
but I don’t bend
drinking from the bottle like my body never ends
I must be sleeping
I can’t tell
whisper to myself in a voice straight outta hell
ain’t no poet
ain’t got pretty words
ain’t no goddam thing ‘cept what you heard
Another cigarette
and another bottle of booze
held in these chains by my lost muse
when I sleep
dream of better times
when I am awake there’s only one on my mind

I been going crazy, ain’t got no sense of real
I been getting hazy, can’t think I only feel
I was lost for all those years, now I’m seeing I’m lost again
running out of ways to pretend that I can stop the pain

I run so damn hard
I run so damn far
but I was drawn like a moth to the light of that star
I ain’t different
but I’m not the same
feels like I been blinded and maimed
can’t wake up
from this prison cell
gonna get fucked up and sit here for a spell
mind ain’t ready
for what comes next
hitting it again to stop from feeling the effects
of whatever went wrong
and this I know
I am living by the creek and drowning in the flow
head feels heavy
heart feels cold
but I can’t stop wishing for that fool’s gold

I been going crazy, ain’t got no sense of real
I been getting hazy, can’t think I only feel
I was lost for all those years, now I’m seeing I’m lost again
running out of ways to pretend that I can stop the pain

I break to often
I break to soon
is to damn easy with a needle and a spoon
I break so easy
but I don’t bend
drinking from the bottle like my body never ends

Written for guitar, vox, bass, and drum.

Endearment

Hold me under the water, cut away the emptiness
the makeup I used to wear is faded and gone
My eyes now lined not by pencil but life
correct my fucking defects
as you will
Tear my flesh to make me real
rip great gouges in my soul
and show me where humanity lies
and humanity lies
lies
lies
I cannot distance myself on my own
the missing knight on the chessboard calls
lost without his horse or tackle
tilting at windmills while Sancho Panza
looks on in awe and sadness
I lost my touch like a crippled Christ
no longer healing but trying despite
The followers who distort and fail
if I could take my own advice
if I could take
if I could
if I
Fallen like a broken god
all pale skin and crimson gashes
And no believers left
Your funeral mouth mouths words
Without meaning or import
This is where kisses go to die

Perdition

This is not the fancy and flight
of some long past Italian poet
This is the descriptive account
that you have written in my soul
There are no flames here
licking high and scorching the tormented
only cold clammy walls and prickly sweat
and the soundtrack of the whimpers of the damned
this is the place of heartbreaks
and suicides and this is home
there is no water that can parch this thirst
just the damp on the sweated stone
there is no Virgil to guide
and each here has been entombed
by cruelty and suffering
and the damnation of the not-yet-dead
no gods dare step or speak in these halls
where even they can fall to despair and melancholy
nothing grows but a bitter lichen
texture like ruin
and the scent of putrescence and blight
there is a gangrenous stench that
pervades this twilight gallery
and the mewling sobs of the accursed
as they pray for the cessation of suffering
for the forgotten and dispossessed
stripped and naked and shivering with resignation
the denizens of this place with no heart
or hope yield up to endless time.
There are a multitude here and all
answer to my name as well
as the ones they were born with
but none respond when called
There are no demons with whips
seeking tortuous delights
No interruption to this ceaseless monotony
of sorrow and mourning
With blunted eyes and anaemic pallor
we sit and moan
our troubles into this voided space
edgeless and infinite
Within the confines of this dank abyss
There is no escape to Elysian fields
nor rise to some lesser limbo
There is only regret and longing
and the dull endless wait for forever

Combat

You threw that bomb, some home-made device
of sharp shrapnel and blistering heat
into the house of my life
so now I’m standing in rubble invisible to all
but me and perhaps you
Your war began with salvos of love and passion and
soft tempered whispers
but ended with the devastation of that silent missile
lobbed from across the street with pinpoint accuracy
and calculating precision
Can you blame me if I want to
launch one back?
but I am still holding tight to a broken pacificism
in these shattered ruins
as unwilling to sacrifice you to myself
as you were willing to sacrifice me to you
I am holding tight to a last shred of decency
that you failed to display when you hurled your grenade
into the confines of this bunkered abode
I am holding tight to a love I still feel
in the very essence of my psyche, the core of the soul
a love you exterminated in your own heart
in an instant, an hour, a week, a month
and with your muted projectile sent this place to tumble
into ruin and decay
I love you still despite your stillness and nonchalant violence
I have lost the war and this bloodstained face
This tear-wracked visage
is my trophy and medal of defeat

Mirror

You left me like a boot in the face
with no regret and no words
just some late-night subway mugging
a knife to the kidneys as you stole my wallet
or my heart
as if to say you had no part, no choice
in this singular decision without redemption
or regret
so I write about you
name names, give details, assess pain
you gave freely to the pain of others
you assessed and found wanting that love
or emotion, preferring your material
comfort to any sense of love or responsibility
and I love you anyway
martyr to loves lost inflections

Abode

This is just a phase, for straight middle-aged white men
former street punks and junkies, boot boys with
Doctor Martens and leaden looks
a house divided is the only kind I’ve ever known
This is just a phrase, in a longer sentence
a paragraph of obtuse and tortured grammar
the language put on the rack, persecuted
with composed precision
there are neither victims nor butchers here
and this house divided in peerless disunity
This is just the opening verse, of a lingering song
no top forty hit, nor underground favourite
dissonant and jarring, all minor seconds and major sevenths
and the house divided on atonal echoes
This is the thousand-yard stare, for broken hearts
under the gaze of the clandestine sniper
with the high calibre ammunition straight between the eyes
and this house divided provides no reprieve
This is a not a great work of art, all colour in
light-painted words and earless divinity
just mud and blood and crashed-out palettes
and this house divided by stroke-shafted stars
This is just a forever phase, for self-loathing whispers and wounded gaze
dejected lips and doleful tongue
and this house cannot stand