Cold Heart

All things are cold
And don’t belong to me,
I am the hand raised,
The finger pointed,
The number one suspect,
The usual intrusion,
The usual abrasion,
The case for nothing,
The silly myth, the lack
Of godliness, the exercise
Horse, the man of no purpose,
My destiny breaking me—
For dazed is the hazed world—
Bored and wielding no sword—
Its there, its written for me,
For us, to unite me, to untie
Me, to undo me, yet I do not
See, it’s a choice, it’s a rave,
Its mighty to save,
Heart is cold, dug up on a
String, dead before I sing,
Dead before I go to you again—
I am cold
I am bored
I am stolen by the scandal
Of man, by the corruption on
The newsstand—
I am in awe of it,
The body and its parts!
I am cold,
So make me warm

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