Its 1:38 am and that beast addiction is crawling under my skin. My mind is turning from sleep as calm and sure as the outgoing tide. I'm thinking Dorothy Porter lines and ranging across the memories of everywhere. I'm smoking and craving nicotine even as it hits my lungs and the smoke furls back into the dark corners of here. I'm stinging from sunburn and the absence of heartache. What a piece of your life it fills, heartache.
When its gone, heartache, when its gone, there's only open doors and red lipstick and possibilities and the mad dashing of dreams. When its gone you'll miss it for the anchor and the reason. I'm pushing across possibilities. I'm racing into supersonic. This is a new level of shedding and being. Madam Squeeze sat down on the low windowsill of the Hopetoun and spoke to me a line or two and she didn't hear it over that old band and the thick Sydney night bouncing heat off the harbour and that fuck ugly bridge but all those fractals snapped. Fuck me if I'm not sitting here all shiny and new.
When its gone, heartache, when its gone, there's only open doors and red lipstick and possibilities and the mad dashing of dreams. When its gone you'll miss it for the anchor and the reason. I'm pushing across possibilities. I'm racing into supersonic. This is a new level of shedding and being. Madam Squeeze sat down on the low windowsill of the Hopetoun and spoke to me a line or two and she didn't hear it over that old band and the thick Sydney night bouncing heat off the harbour and that fuck ugly bridge but all those fractals snapped. Fuck me if I'm not sitting here all shiny and new.
Comments