It’s a sad song; do you really want to hear?

So many guitars weep,
When the moon decides to be clothed,
In her finest white,
As she steals the hearts of cowards like me,
When I’m not looking;
And instead, chasing, the last woman,
With clean lips and a soul mixed with chilled ice,
In the last remnants of yesteryear’s dreamed heaven

Lonely nights, by a fire, by a window, and now,
By a laptop;
Surfing the expansive frequencies of galactic connections,
Lost; this maze is too big to return sweetheart

What will you do to me, but sew my lips?
So that I may remain quiet
As you continue to dream,
Of perfect orgasms and a sparkling world,
With optimal amounts of chicken,
In your rice
And the right percents of fermentation,
In your wine; the accurate yellow,
In your whisky; such utopia;

Liars get tired of defining the world,
Words are all we have,
And words are pieces of injustice,
That create the falsity,
Of all that we determine real

It only gets shorter from here,
The verse, the pointless ramble
It only gets shorter.
Because words don’t live forever,
People don’t live forever.
Nothing lives forever.
Except the reality, that nothing does.
Dig it up. And you’ll see.

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