One can’t find beauty in a sequel, but you’ve heard that before.
I’m lost in thoughts of moments past; you sit there wanting more.
Well if I’m just a fraud, and you’re naught but a broad
then I guess this is where we belong...
An immaculate cell of inaccurate hell,
where I am the one who’s done wrong.
For here in the temple I will sear myself blind
and with tongue to the floor, leave no fresh dust behind.
Then when the current runs out and the prism fades away
I’ll secede for my daydream in a sordid decay!
For when all the stars form a line to ask a penance of soil
the mountains dig back in the land,
not a man will be worth half his weight in your oil
or a dot on the map on my hand.
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