Do you feel it in your guts
In your god
Or your crash
In your sawn off one star
In your head
Or your laugh
In the going out onto the trains
To the hellos
To the planes
To the people all around
When you are with me and we smile
And we robot in the rain
For a little while
And you cry
In the afternoon
Because I am empty
Always filling you up
With absent words of love
And the food
And the wine
And the couldn’t spend the time
To listen to your hope
Until you name me the next pope:
The hypocrite of love
And you bend to kiss my hand
In another land
Where I pretend to speak eight idiomas
And I rule over the rhinos that flock to my square
And I wave to them all
And to the sea
Bind waves that come to see me
And the sea spray
And the sea weed
And the papa-razzi
Waiting for hearsay
For heresy
For the day
When I will be morto
Will I really be morto?
Will I really be the earth?
I’d like for you to hold my earthy hand
But I would prefer her hand to hold me
When I am Morto
Morto Dio Cane
Dio Cane di Merda
Dio Diasy and her smile
Dio kissed me for a while
But Dio wouldn’t grace the vision
She preferred chips and tamer visions
Dio drank and Dio sang
I waited, but sure
She never rang
#waffle806 1/5
streak: 3