WithinCrookedI walk, limpingSkewedPerspective twisting to fit,Visions of the world,Of people and Myself,Through broken Oak leavesThat hide shadows,Smiles and intentionsAnd how I wish I understoodWhat it means,Feels like,To Live,to Love,With a full heartUnafraid and unashamed
The BoardwalkAn old traditionStrolling around the gift shopsWatching the arcadesT-shirts, key chains, shot glassesFor past, present, and future
GoldschlagerTerrors fragile, tease the night, nubile and safe they allure.Poisoned apples red with easement, fat with sweet liqueur.A molasses prison within a dream, a sleep with no stone cast.Whispers delusion into tired bone, pledges asylum vast.Thicker than reason and gilded neatly at every golden seam,wont let it grow without a mess, a mess I cannot clean.lust maroon for pathways mild and burden a fraction lighterSaturate us, destroy our home, the noose a fraction tighter.The call of sleep is oh so sweet, the phalanx wilts, fatigued.Demon lend me another drink, as I'm thoroughly intrigued.Oh there is? Through the pass? Shelter to weather the storm?Say its ok, it's easy and pure, but ultimately, forlorn. No matter how twisted these ancient halls, or pathways wrapped in snow,no matter how thick with thorn and swords this journey overflow,ignore the lies, the trap, the swamp, the corpse soaked in Merlot,Fight for every fucking inch: it's the only way to know.