A pointe made all of Cedars, yet the smell
of grease, of petrol in the eve, burning bright
as our hearts, our passions rising
I miss the high heights, the passions that we forever held
never saw the forest there, never
cut past the limelight sighing.
Ride that bullet, a magnum falling
the dark closing fast, times coming still
the stars aligned, our
tepid passions spilling out over one another,
excitement growing:
for we were kids then, and
forever children yet will be.
Will you cry with me in 2012,
weep along with my birthday nearing?
No, they will drag you from some strange park,
a corpse chilling on chill June eve,
along with my heart, a part of me I'll never know.
They'll beg to know what drives me, they'll
spell the warnings on the sidewalk
spill the wine with the heartache, the heroin
clogging up my arteries,
making life in front of me,
something dangerous, and yet
never yet will be.
So cry with me, the women that will never understand
pray with me, a heart that cannot process, cannot
become one beside the land.
For there is a strange ghost coming yet to claim me,
a fire burning bright, still lie there in front of me.
Done tonight, and yet never can quite compete.
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