Liaison Is Not Me

Living in the past
Smoking its smoke in
Me, the way it used to be
Was the way I was never meant
To be, I suffered, I cried, I died,
I never lied so many nights in a
Row, I really did never try to know—
I just saw dark, I just had no spark—
I just lived with you in my head,
With that one night with one spread
With one dead bolt of secret inside of me—
Backseat chaser, memory eraser, beauty to
Behold, everything in me is growing old,
Growing cold, growing closer to never
Being close anymore—man seeks, man
Dies, man lives in constant exile,
In constant worthless days of pain
And sorrow and nothing new under the
Hot sun—I am spun, I am done, I am
Spotting trains and sitting under planes—
I am watching and waiting to never let
Summer go and be gone the way it has
Been—all that was in me that summer day—
When the night never did end, all I remember
About it stays to loud now—loud is the desire,
Loud is the liaison, loud is the liaison called King,
Called Ruler, called worthy of it all, called maker
Of the stars, maker of me,
I can never be His liaison,
For it demands I will be trampled on—
For it means more sorrow for me to
Borrow—for it means a hard life—
For if love is all I am after,
Then that should be enough—
For all other memories are
Never going to be good enough

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