Tuesday, 13 July 2010


Did you awake this morn with rubies in your eyes?
Insomniac queen, your trip is over
Put down the snuffbox and pick the clover
That grows on a vast field of spun gold
I foresee that four leaves you should haplessly hold.

The party’s over, go home to mama kin. (give your rubies back)
Unhinged maiden, your demise could be near,
You sold your soul, but have no fear
The hope that’s left should make things clear
And light the way to the mending of your existence.

These rubies melt in the hot tears of hell
Until new ones grow after the party ends.
But as you knew all along, from the start
Rubies are dull and you know it.
They are the veins that creep on your eyes
The bloodshot, weary, twisted guise,
Lay off this substance, its killing you, see?
Go pick the clover in the field of the free.

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