The need.

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.



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