White ribbons in the sky
He's trying to make clouds for her
To protect her from the sun
He can do anything, anything, even with needles
She knows he loves me more than heroin

He's hardly ever there with her
But the chrysanthemum has bloomed so beautifully
With its twisted rays (to mirror her)
And the garden is a delight
Sometimes she'll dream of him when he's gone
But today satellites breach every gap
The line's busy… … …

I miss you. I'm sorry I'm so far away.
And she'll always say it doesn't matter
Faithful as Penelope she waits
Silver lips never part to ask for anything
But cold kisses he does not save only for her
And when he's lucid he'll tell her
I know it's not me you love
It's the stories

Pretty, left-at-home wife prays for only one thing
Rain in the summer, autumn in July
When it's cold, I don't feel empty inside
It's heat that accentuates the contrast
Every time he returns it's from further away
Any other would've left
But by the moonlight when she takes her nightly walk
Perfectly untouchable (a long practiced mental state)
She sees the reason why she lingers
With such sick and sordid pleasure

You've been burnt and scorched in carnage
Granted a VIP pass to Hell
Collected more blood than the gorgons
But gave it all back with interest (the wheel keeps spinning)
And always kept it all secret from me
As though I could not tell by simply tasting you
You lost inch by inch of yourself all along the way
And your eyes…God, your eyes petrify me
I used to see myself in them, now I see…
...I...I dare not say...

He plunged ever
d
e
e
p
e
r
into the gorge
Of human suffering, torture, drugs and hollowing sex
And she yearned and worshipped him ever fiercer
With a perverse craving for something tainted
That she could no longer possess, for it was gone
I sought lips my entire youth
That could hurt me and corrupt me
Now you can come and go as you please
But smoldering me once an era
Makes me yours for all the wasted nights to come
And he tries to explain with tears in his eyes
That he had always wanted to sheathe her
From what he'd been radiated with himself
From what could hurt her
But it's what kept me wanting you
All the danger and the pain I would never go through
Rare delicacies I could pick off your fingertips
I need you to feel alive
All the ways he'd found to patch himself up
Suddenly crumbled in agony of the greatest failure
He was so sorry she could not be kept innocent

Once abloom like her favourite flower
He had kept the illusion chrysanthemums would always be constant
In a life that drifted in an out of this world
Devoid of melody and lyrics

It is I who am twisted, dead inside like a voiceless nightingale, not you
But what an enchantment, to be your ultimate disappointment…


AN: Do not ask where this came from, I have this amazing impression that I have been brainwashed in the recent past. What a sick, sick, sick story! Make any sense though? Awfully enough, it does to me. How dark the human mind is! Stay on the light side of the Force, you shall. Eh…it's late :-P.