We drew a crowd.
The crowd drew blood.
Fawning swindlers.
Theres a shark in the stream where the newborns are
baptized.
Who let the flatterer, into the gallery, on our sweet sixteen.
Take him against the wall for the witness.
This is
doom in a borrowed suit.
It's a pick up line at a funeral.
Cannibals along side the catwalk.
But its ok we've got old blood and
our veins are rooted to the hornets nest again.
New love is tasteless.
We're wearing down.
This is the year of the party
crasher.
What is charm.
Where are the heroics.
What is harm to the perfumed wrists of the stoics.
Designer Imposters find
us twitching in the claws of the snake.
A fin is circling around in the floor.
It appears we've lost our way.
The tide is
swelling and we've fallen asleep on the shore.
Get inside.
Someones yelling fire in the theater.
Oh dear God.
Everybody stay
calm.
Tell your husband that his screaming just invited it in.
The horsemen are crashing through the gates.
Crashing through the
gates.
We had better learn to play dead.
Our hands are reeking of rapture.
It's dripping from our chin.
The tragedy of infant
hearts.
But it's ok
We've got old blood and our hair is woven to the same hotel again.
We're wearing down.
This is the year of
the party crasher.
It's you and me for the first time, in history.
We're history.