sleepy jack

My eyes, they grow weaker in the night
As the birds sing and take flight,
And still I dig, to lay down in the soil
Feel the dirt rain upon my face,
In my eyes, my weakening eyes
I see your face, smiling back at me,
From times when living was a pleasure
But now my sky has lost its sun,
It's going to be a cold day,
As I hear you laugh at me, and sing words back
"If you're so funny, then why are you on your own tonight?
And if you're so clever, then why are you on your own tonight?
If you're so very entertaining, then why are you on your own tonight?
If you're so very good looking, why do you sleep alone tonight?"
And the answer is I don't know, some nights I dream of running
From this town and casting myself into the sea, to become one
With the ocean and let the salty waters consume me.

Like a dead body everyone gathered around you,
A songbird so pretty and pure with new feathers,
Winter came too soon for you I suppose so I laid
Down in this bed, full of neglect and I gathered my
Memories and released them like prayers to the wind,
Just some words, left to fall and begin again.

So now I lay in the middle of nowhere waiting for your
Wings to come and pick up me up but they won't
This soil seems to be full of ghosts of you,
I painted your face a million times
So when you decided to fly south, why I think I broke down and cried,
As you shot across the world singing your song
Of a new love, kissing him,
As white and dead as the November sky.

__________________

right-track

I think you should call this 'Songbird #523'

Touch of the Morrissey's there Ethan?

__________________
Choose Liverpool. Choose the dole queue. Choose to scam disability benefit. Choose mind-numbing, grinding efficiency over flair. Choose Torben Piechnik, Istvan Kozma and Paul Stewart. Choose not to win a single league title since the backpass rule was implemented. Choose penalties. Choose car stereos, hubcaps and stanley knives. Choose to trade on your proud sense of tradition and then not lift a finger in protest when two American billionaires who don't even know the name of your club decide to buy it. Choose to win the European Cup whilst only having to play seven matches. Choose to bask in a perpetual, sickening, media love-in. Choose celebrities who **** off out of your city as soon as they have earned the money to do so and then spend the rest of their lives harping on about how wonderful it is. Choose to sing about Munich until confronted with your own tragedy. Choose to end it all in an orgy of self pity, just another excuse to perpetuate the grief culture spawned by your selfish, insular ****ed-up excuse for a city. Choose your future. Choose Scouse.

sleepy jack

yes sir.

__________________

N*S*G

No.

TheBig3KilledMyRainDog

What are you going for here?

__________________
“The night falls gracefully for those who have a love to call their own. But alas, for those to whom love has turned a blind eye – love, it falls like a guillotine”

“No more waiting for fate to befall me, no. I have my dreamboat, and together we will find our destiny, choose our ladder to the sky” - Markus Pierson

Gentleman Johnny

ethan can get sexual too.

__________________
sous les pavés, la plage!

sleepy jack

therapy i guess.

__________________