Here between these third and fourth ribs, the tender portal in search of a knife. A solid blade to sever it from the aches of living. And on this neck a line to hold this heavy head as it surges out into the darkness that is the absence of light. Here on this bridge between nowhere a wind and a fall, fortuitous grasping at the air like a deep breath after one held so long in anticipation. Or this slow and subtle needle showing sleep in its dull promise and no dream left to disturb the morning light with bad memories.
Search the hours for an alternative. Try in all your wills and ways to discover some way out of this lane, this path that goes only towards its own end. Sleep and dream of something good that will not make you sorry when you wake, trembling with loss renewed and and in an empty room. Fuck the day that drags you into its misery, the miserable world upon your brow, the miserable stinginess of hope that passes you by wearing the face of those you've loved. Do not leave behind an unpleasant remembrance for those who linger on. If you must go, then go. But do it with charm and grace, and do not leave in the house.
I am tired as hell is tired, swollen with forgotten souls heaping torture on themselves, riding guilt and self pity through a million years. I am tired and I cannot sleep. I am tired and I cannot sleep and I do not want to wake up tomorrow to see this through again. But for those who linger still, I will wake again- tomorrow and all tomorrows, until the whistle blows long and last to climb the ladder and off in to the west.
And when I die, carry me, or barring that, carry my memory back down to New Orleans and make a parade of it. Then back into your selves and wonder no longer at what I will become- I will be dust and ash and fading, a story told round until it wears thin enough for the light to pass through it, and then I will be light.
- No song list today. It's all good stuff. The song titles are in the file.
- ~døwnload~
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