TO WRITE SONGS LIKE THIS ABOUT PEOPLE LIKE YOU 
Masochism is the new fashionable accessory for the 
sadists. All-seeing eyes give the cowardly and timid 
motivation to wear their afflictions on their sleeves. 
Saturday night's alright for martyrs and rapists to 
equate their positions. Golden pillars give way under 
the weight of prison bars. In this world, the water 
flows like stale concrete, but at least it's easy to 
swallow. Rites of bloodletting sway like soulless 
children, arm in arm with blackout threnodies. May I 
have this dance, my love? A simple series of twirls and 
gazes into skies incised by our Sisyphean dialogue. 
Laughing at the sound of it. Forgiveness? -- There's no 
such luck. It's 4 am and I'm wide awake, blowing oxygen 
out of this open window. Perhaps she was simply well-
versed in her sense of ironic attachment. Perhaps she 
is wide awake at 4 am too. Tonight I will be courting 
my demons at a candlelit dinner. I will slip them 
sleeping pills and have my way with them. She signs her 
name on her leaden gift so the world will know she was 
the last thing to go through my mind. Saturday night's 
alright for forgiveness to be forgotten and left for 
dead. Knee-deep in a codeine valentine, she's screaming 
with open arms for the murder scene to cease. Set the 
stage, baby. The show must go on. Now I watch as she 
embodies a trigger-happy Don Quixote scripted to crush 
with the weight of a feather torn from the wings of 
this blackened November. This last letter I have 
written will be sealed with the paper upon which you 
wrote the last letter you gave me. I love you but my 
hands are weak. I fear I cannot hold on much longer. 
You stole my heart; prove to me it's still yours. Hide 
it deep within the pavement. I want you to keep it 
forever; just never let it tarnish. I said I'd wait 
forever. Today will mark its end. I have waited like a 
corpse fashioned for a lost soul. I have waited like a 
lost soul fashioned for your consumption. Your eyes 
shone brightest under a crimson moonlight, graciously 
perverse. So let the blood be spilled and these 
fragments of you be burned away. Ignite the walls and 
break the windows and anoint your forehead with the 
ashes in self-consecration because no one lives here 
anymore, no one lives here anymore, no one lives here 
anymore. I said I would wait forever for you. I guess 
I'm just as bad of a liar as you.