Love all, when I call,
You, to the furthest cliffs,
And say, that you will stay,
To speak true words, of no dismay.
People seem, and also scream,
To force cues,
To force signs,
To places full of danger,
Will you be the one, to fulfill,
The only one, who has become still?
Your beauty is where I mark unknowns,
To a center I say is full of danger,
To places where kisses run rampant,
Upon walls and over edges.
You gracefully speak,
While I pitifully weep.
Music runs like magma from our throats,
Beneath the Earth where the dead still rot.
I am merely the man with loathsome keepsakes,
And futile memories,
That I always leave away
In a puddle of Bacchus.
You have beauty to which I reach for,
To see with the most open of eyes.
Though, it enters my arms with greatest pain,
And wallows there among my frozen corpse.
Maggots crawl, while sorrow walls,
Love swallows the coldest pill,
To quell aches from the sickness that quakes.
But, to me, there is nothing to see,
But the flavor of what I now know,
A place of emptiness to which I wait,
For my love to enter what I wish to sate.