Transmutation
and it ends with a curse;
Making life easy,
by making it worse;
My mask is my Master,
The trumpeter weeps,
But his voice is so weak
As he speaks from his sleep, saying
Why, why, why, why are we sleeping!
People are watching,
people who stare;
waiting for something
that's already there.
Tomorrow I'll find it ,
The trumpeter screams,
And remembers he's hungry
And drowns in his dreams, saying
Why, why, why, why are we sleeping!
My head is a nightclub
With glasses and wine;
The customers dancing
Or
My Favourite Muse
I pulled the ex last night, and it felt weird to feel her up again.
Knickers down, and bra cast as if the past and not passed.
And she brought the drinks all night, but that's okay, now she's got a job.
Her generosity - my curse. She even let me keep her purse.
But I couldn't get it up - too much to drink, too much to say.
She picked her clothes up off the floor and promptly headed for the door.
I was just trying to use my favourite muse.
I don't think I could ever want her back, I'm just making sure she's still capable of being slack.
And she's got trouble with her boyfriend now.
I always said he was a prick.
I told her from the very start, when she almost broke my heart.
And my room's a mess this morning.
She left her fag-ends floating in a glass.
I didn't try and make her stay. I doubt she would have anyway.
I was just trying to use my favourite muse.
It's nice to see she's still slack. I could never want her back.