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THERE WILL BE BLOOD
The lamplighter is dead, hark, the lamplighter is dead;
The streetlamps, obsolete, cry out for what is past,
Pbuming, and to come. Impotent as Yeats, whose love bled
Wine-dark ink of thorny pain upon the mast
Of the fair ship of my gothic dreams
That seek, in vein, the Black Pearl shining
Past my black veil’s velvet seams,
The labyrinthine thorny pathways intertwining…
The black veil is my consciousness, eroding,
Coughing up my soul upon a barren shore
But I am but another distant star, imploding;
Quoted the Raven, nevermore.
I drank your milkshake. I drank it up.
There is no irrigation upon which my land can feed.
O, exquisite Satan, gratify thyself into my empty cup.
From the moment we are born, we begin to bleed.
|Posted On: 07/30/2012 7:41AM||View BootyClappinAndr...'s Profile | #|