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He
slept upon a pillow that did not crease under his weight. It was not
his, not his to taint with his unorthodox warp speed and chewed-down
fingernails... and so he befriended his successor, the vandal, the innocent
with eyes of saucers and an electric blue about his face that you, ma
cherie, you would have found bewitching, had you returned... but you
stole off into the night without so much as a whisper or a finger to
your poor father's lips, doing so you broke him, and he ceased to be
as the rain fell. Then the Sheriff of Nottingham rode in on his white
horse, Maid Marion no resist, he was the hero in this tale, what reason
otherwise? The alarm rings, slight jump of the heart - that can't be
good for your cholesterol but you must rise TODAY not tomorrow it's
your fault chances are gone, knapsack on shoulders, twilight kissing
it's blessing. A watched pot never boils, even when you're hungry. It
hurt then, the pain in my side licked at me like the lions in the den
pardon me I must excuse myself, truly sorry. Hold my wine for me will
you dear? Unlike then when you had four types of gun you now have but
a fingernail with which to destroy the Prince of Darkness, my left hand,
I miss that the most. I almost joined it you know, when it was severed
from my wrist and flung into that pit you dug especially. So romantic
- to die for a hand - it must have meant something... but my flesh rots
and melts while I pretend it was never mine Be OFF iwth you now I stand
on nothing that will not hold me in these sixty knot winds, sixty knots
all in my hair, comb them out Mommy will you? Combing not the word -
wrenching AT LEAST THEY'RE GONE pretty soon me too
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