Saintseneca Follow

Waste of a face never yours for the keeping
Slapped across your head
Then with what little time remained
set out to forget it

Yonder would break days plump with thunder
of new and glorious morn
Hours would spill
souring still
despite our adornments for them

all in good time
you break before the light
so soaked in wine
it dries your will to fight
but everyday is never enough
sucks tucked in the folds of your guts
contents of which blaze in your eyes
Jesus, I'm drunk on this spirit tonight

----
If only the good ones die young
I'd pray your corruption would
swift like a thief in the night
Right I pluck my right eye right out
----

Yanked from your slumber
What ominous portent
dangles in your face?
Rife with sprites falling on knives
crowd into your gaze
well sight is a sense and in your defense
one I might liken to...
the manner in which you touch what you clutch
and the that the wind touches you

----
If only the good ones die young
I'd pray your corruption would
swift like a thief in the night
Right I pluck my right eye right out

If only the young ones die good
I'd pray your corruption would
slip like a slit in the wrist
hack the hands, redeem the rest