the night’s silence strips bare
the screams of hearts lost,
while rain pours down we declare,
Love’s residue cleanly washed.
Our souls no longer burdened,
our feet free to roam:
where shall we send the heart,
when the heart has no home?
And in the evening hours,
the twilight dwindling grey,
the whores of Babel’s towers,
oh! the things they do say:
“Come and be with me, my love,
My fantasy you’ve always been!”
but in these twilight hours,
I am but one of many men.
the whispers of desire,
pregnant with sly indifference,
create an ego’s fire,
though, without consequence.
shall we go skipping to a song,
dancing away oh so fast?
shall we revel all night long
in comforts that do not last?
And where shall we go then,
when the last song is played?
shall we go to your room,
as long as light is stayed?
No. I shall drink alone in bars,
in taverns turned to shrines
to alcoholic discontent
for throw away lives.
There is the home,
for which my heart so grieved:
the bartender’s sweetness
satisfies every need.