What desperate depths you've drug me to...
Still blood to bruise I'd run to you.
So it's the least that i could do to remember you
The way that you would want me to
Those days before these pores improved when,
Sore to swoon, I swore to you
Then ankles bound with trousers round,
I'd lay the way you taught me to.
Loose slacks ascend toward half mast,
Those photographs outlast what's come to pass
I have in my mind the face upright,
The skin was taught... but horizontal,
An excess came from somewhere
To droop down clouding sockets,
Flushing hollows pulling the mouth into a drooping,
Head-heavy heart.
It was in this position of the skin that it looked sadden,
Yet entirely moved by feeling sad.
This is where I knew we met
The Kicking Dead.
Those hips of rose through balls of blue
It's all that i'll recall of you
Those faithful few who never knew?
Well, what they don't know won't hurt you
One sinful slip which slew us two from scorn to screw
I mourn for you who'd flatter me your fleur de lis
Who's elegies still seep from me
And pleased to fondly think of thee
On berber-burnt and bended knees
So rest however restlessly with peace beneath these cherry trees
