Those words you spilled were angel tears; your face is blurry in a waterfall.

We trekked across Antarctica, crashed and burned together in the stormy weather.

If I wait just a little bit longer, will you come running home, back to that place you’ve never known.

It’s an unfamiliar place, but I’ve made a fire, and cooked the stew; if you’re willing, make this your home?

My throat is at the guillotine, so you’d turn and walk out on me; bye bye, bittersweet butterfly.

I’d take every hit if you would travel somewhere sunny with me, at perfect peace; we’d be free!

Rub the blood on my skin in the cannibal fire, this is my farewell; I’ll do a perfect job of pulling you under.

Blow that horn, bang those drums; you’re against the flow, heigh-ho, heigh-ho! to a better place we’d go.

I could rest my head against yours’, on a reef of dreams, floating gently down tranquil mountain streams,

Where I’d serve those fish to you on a dish of diamond, perfectly filleted, just the way you’d like them.

I’d traverse your wildest nightmares, put every one right back to sleep; you can fight them next to me.

But I’m sat in this quiet room, somewhere familiar, but not my home; writing a poem,

A vision of the place where I left God to die; the Earth where we were never meant to be.