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Some other time.
Live for the night.
In love with the notion that he's never right.

But in that, find nothing.
Live inside that deformed mind.
There's no way to be the one for you.
For you.

Sick in self loathing.
No other way to find his way.

Love sick trust.
Am I awake?
Am I asleep?
There's no way to tell.

Lies to himself.
Not awake.
But should he sleep?
Some other time.

Can't hardly feel it, it's starting to bleed.
Curving so softly, now fading to blue.
Haven't decided just what I should need.
But hopefully sleep will subdue.

Shrug and relax, Its all just a joke.
And hopefully you'll be just fine.
But it's been ages since we last spoke.
Oh well, some other time.

Some other time.


from Hurt Not the Oil and the Wine, released October 31, 2006




The Ugly Facade

We live our lives in boxes, with little glowing screens. We fill our blood with toxins, so we can deal with things. And sometimes, more than often, the bitter masks the taste. The fruitless failed reflection: what if it's all a waste?

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