The days are chained like daisies
|
flung on some years-old grave
|
on ground unmarked, found on no chart
|
or map or minefield aid
|
I can only change the future
|
I cannot change the past
|
I can't recall who's on my side
|
I can only watch my back
|
Through aimless thought, through thoughtless deed
|
I joined with liars and thieves
|
but behold the only liar who's
|
scorned and told to leave
|
|
I will walk yr way
|
|
A soap-opera clown
|
stakes his place by her side
|
and he'll sniff, pout and frown
|
'til she tells him the world is wrong
|
and his cliches are right
|
|
Now, the season never changes
|
Just me and my true love
|
In this harbour bare, slate-grey and hushed
|
where slow death is life enough
|
|
You made of me an outcast
|
A suitcase-dwelling shell
|
You made of mine a heart of stone
|
which you dropped down a bottomless well
|
Well, fair enough,
|
but just don't call it love
|
when it was just lust for blood
|
and by the way, "get out" just means "get out" to me
|
|
I will walk yr way
|
Debts of the world are not mine to pay
|
so I will walk yr way
|
|
-----------------
|
Walk Yr Way
|
| The Fatima Mansions |
