the final cut

i saw the sun taken away
i saw the boy being told the truth
i saw the pictures fade into dirt

'twas a lie
'twas a lie
fie
fie
fie

haha
hoho
johnny's gonna miss the show

strum strum
trum strum
gotta make something never
seen before

gotta write lines
deep
profound
gotta create
beauty
magic

haha
hoho

gotta drink whisky
and not beer
gotta read use black and white
and not colour

haha
hoho

gotta finish it off
but never had the nerve

haha
hoho

hoho
hoho

hoho

ho

please

hoho
hoho

haha

hahaha
haha
hahahaha

vanity

And as we peer
at the sky illimitable,
the stars infinite,
and resting peacefully,
there where we
might hope
to wander
in our youth,
we must only look
for the magic
that spreads its
warm glow around
our naked minds
and never count
the fireflies that whisper
to the night air
but only feel
the hush
of their silent whispers.

And as the pure
nectar of youth,
immortal youth,
woos us
and lures us
to take a bite
of what life has to offer
let us not rue
past times and the vanity
of youth
but wait,
albeit with impatience,
for the life that waits
for us,
when we will
let ourselves
be
and where we shall
sit quietly
and sip the warm elixir
of wisdom, peering down
at our past with the knowledge
that we lived.

3-5-3

Children hear
fairytales that end
as they should.

Adults read
fairytales that end
wrong. They cry.

a boy

I see
a boy
sitting on a bench,
smoking,
with regret,
wondering
at the amazement
he feels
on facing disillusionment.

His eyes –
tired –
his ears,
indifferent to the music
of the cicadas,
the night washing
over him
without a flutter
and his stare
fixed on a twisted
branch,
displaced from home.

He returns
to his cave
of solitude,
back to mysterious
and wonderful
stories
from faraway,
a stranger,
wary,
worn down
by the city lights
and the clear
night sky.

music

The drums beat
within my head,
the guitars tug
at my heart.
I numb myself
in a silken white
cloth of smoke
and wait for sleep.
For happy sleep,
for torturous dreams
of Neverland
and tombstones.

Would only self-pity
break me now
so that I may not
be anymore.

Words, words,
stupid words,
stupid, stupid words
begging for sympathy.
"Is someone else
supposed to be there
besides the spectre
of broken promises?"
the operator asks.

The grey shroud
of desolation
will never be swept away
by me.

Happy, happy sleep
sing to me tonight,
sing with your screams
and your screeches,
sing so that I may not
hear anymore.

Sing so I may
fly away
and fall,
sing so I may fall
with music in my ears,
with a numbness that
would choose me as son,
and then I can not
be anymore.

the city

The sunshine locks
itself within
and the water races
through
the places where
I used to wander
but shouldn’t wish to anymore.

Trapped in a city
of neon lights
and fast cars
I look for a window
and a reason
to jump.

The waves crash
into each other
and undo
every idea
that each held
within the glistening
mirror.

Magical mirrors
struggle to breathe
in the city
of neon lights
and fast cars.
I look for the window
maybe because
I am out
of breath.