Old poems
'Things' have been a bit rough lately. Choppy seas under a leaky boat. Dying Sherpas on a snowy mountain. Just not good. But that's the juice that makes my brain create.
Notes to self:
Black paradise
Swept away from equilibrium
Wishing you were here
Strong arms to take my fear
Wrap me around your little finger
And save me from this place.
Caught in a black paradise
All I see is you reaching out
But I’m trapped beneath the ice.
Heaven breeds a shadow bright as day
Come to take you and your arms away
Say you’ve come to stay
But the price is too much to pay
Too much to pay.
Caught in a black paradise
Candles burned out and
Full of broken lights.
All I see is you reaching out
But my soul has a stain and
Eternity calls for a price -
I’m trapped beneath the ice.
Trapped beneath the ice of my paradise.
The coming
Sitting in silence on the back porch steps
The devil came up to me and whispered
Look at the mess you’ve made,
Look at the mess you’ve made,
As he creaked and swayed
On our wooden porch steps.
At him I stared, frightened and scared.
His face was matte black and lean.
You told me all was well.
But now you take me to hell.
In the entombed mist rang a bell
As the devil took me back.
Through wet grass we walked
But the devil, he did not talk
And all I could do was chant:
Look at the mess I’ve made,
Look at the mess I’ve made,
As my last dusk turned to chalk.
Notes to self:
Black paradise
Swept away from equilibrium
Wishing you were here
Strong arms to take my fear
Wrap me around your little finger
And save me from this place.
Caught in a black paradise
All I see is you reaching out
But I’m trapped beneath the ice.
Heaven breeds a shadow bright as day
Come to take you and your arms away
Say you’ve come to stay
But the price is too much to pay
Too much to pay.
Caught in a black paradise
Candles burned out and
Full of broken lights.
All I see is you reaching out
But my soul has a stain and
Eternity calls for a price -
I’m trapped beneath the ice.
Trapped beneath the ice of my paradise.
The coming
Sitting in silence on the back porch steps
The devil came up to me and whispered
Look at the mess you’ve made,
Look at the mess you’ve made,
As he creaked and swayed
On our wooden porch steps.
At him I stared, frightened and scared.
His face was matte black and lean.
You told me all was well.
But now you take me to hell.
In the entombed mist rang a bell
As the devil took me back.
Through wet grass we walked
But the devil, he did not talk
And all I could do was chant:
Look at the mess I’ve made,
Look at the mess I’ve made,
As my last dusk turned to chalk.