There is a need
There flows a river of sound, a river of death and greed
There are flowers, black and rotting, blooming like its spring
On the banks of these rivers, scattering disease like romance in the air
And I breathe, I stop and I stare
The murky waters flowing menacingly silent, beneath my feet
And I’ve never felt more enchanted
Than when I swam those rivers, like a sword unsheathed
It felt like I was the sin and I was melting into beauty
Like the naked thighs of youth spoilt, spread apart for pleasure, not duty
Time passed and before I knew
I was a washed up, washed away, pining little thing
Up in the hills, in the little house painted blue.
There is still a need, there still flows that river of death and greed
I sometimes hear its roar, waking me up from dreamless sleep, calling me once more.