I see blood in your eyes. Love in your washbasin. And hope choked in your chymney mind. The circus is still alive. The jokers are angry. The music just wrong. Wisdom smeared across your dreams. There's chaos and there's a hint of smoke. And there are hopeless and the cripples, your lovers, who were once poets, but now in gutters and drains. Swimming in shit, their minds knocked up with rat poison and nail polish.
There's beauty and there's darkness in eyeliners, but we fall to an empty void in your sock. But there's sweet death in your smile. There's fear in your sleep. You are nothing but an image of a princess that never found a place in the pack of cards. The poor Jack of Hearts is nothing now but a philosopher. He lost his mind the night he slept on your pillow.
They stayed up all night, smoking, drinking, wondering what's it going to be. Till morning came and took them away. The sweet angels of death dancing around the fire -- playing with another century's fashionable Lucifer. The fire burned so well, I slipped and it was over. But there was only mist, but no sign of rain. The animals were howling, the birds broken and sunshine lost in the hallway of your love.
This was it, this could be the only way. For a suicide or a religion a key swallowed in an anguish of hope. Destiny's nothing but a word. A promise that took you to bed with a dragon who lost its breath.
There's romance in roses, and ugliness in clothes. Perfume in murder. You know what I mean, we all felt it that day when the dogs fed on us. We were young once or so we would like you to believe. We write to tell you, but are so afraid to tell you. Oh how can we tell you. To tell you how beautiful you are. That are kisses would be bookmarked in books instead of flowers, if only they changed the law. But so did Shakespeare did dream -- and we still can't find him.
We are strangers killing each other. Feeding on each other to steal some moments to believe. But you look away, is it easier to see a dying man collapse or just a walk across a room of glass orgy.
What slips must be rich. What dips must be mere loss. For nothing really makes sense, nothing really can. I am here and you are there, and we are all together. Just like the song once went. In beauty or in disguise, nothing's true. I'm afraid not ever your tears. You will part and I will crash my knuckles in the sandpit of time looking for skin.
Save us, we are nothing but fools. We just want to believe you. We want this to end. End in bed, with flowers, and a river. River of thoughts, why is it so impossible?