Holdin' up my L's to the moon tonight,
the deepest scent of rain
and far off storms drifting terribly alone
over waves of eternity.
Oh, the bulging they do when the moon
pulsates its gravity, the sway and thrust
of the tides, darkest azure you can see.
I am seeing a shipwreck in mine corner's eye
and I can't stop it, oh, stop it
this heart jabs at the nearest glow, nebulous
or benevolent warm.
I see it steering staggered, into rocks
and its children cannot swim like their fathers do
of course, this bastard course is me,
I am not blind to see that even in these dark nights
If she were to hold my hands
I wonder what she would read?
would my palms be clean, smooth
or would she see the victims I've drowned
and murdered at sailing's terminus?
Would the tears that create oceans of their own
be of joy? Oh, stop the wishful thinking--
they would never be of joy for as long as I breathe.
a/n the things drunk me writes.
