A spiritual
ghost blesses and bleeds
as I take your hand into mine.
I caress it softly like I care,
like it is almost mine,
and I kiss your lips
where you want me to.
It seems the right thing to do.
An imposing breeze grips
a candle flame tightly by the throat
and puts out the light...
But nothing can douse your presence,
my dear.
Alone in this darkness
I could be your slave if you want.
I could be your possession
strapped to your tree
and take all the pain
you have to give
and return it back to you,
transformed raw,
like leather burn abrasions.
There's a cut wound split
between us
that can't keep us apart.
Ooh your sensual touch of hurt
makes me feel like I'm alive.
And ooh, the irony, my dear,
sticks out
like a sore thumb,
two seconds to bliss...
We are one, yes.
(we are one)
Drama queen bitch,
all wrapped up
in yourself
and so blinded by the dark.
Psychomatic and so dramatic,
what a blunt c*nt you are...
All the while
I hold you in my hands,
like a voodoo doll chained
to your soul
like twin quantum particles
that can't be separated
by even the length of the universe.
And I stick prick hard
as I scream
knowing no matter how hard
you pray,
you're still on pins and needles
heedless to the fact
that it's really just me
doing it to myself.
Ooh the irony, my dear,
two seconds to bliss...
We are one, yes.
(we are one) |