We will make of your heart a grave and crib,
For my sorrows and joys of rotting in bed,
And my venturing spirit on the streets,
The only home it’s known until now.
And the colors of the rainbow will spring,
To life in me, like Renaissance paintings.
Today, then I will go down to the tracks,
Hemmed in by barbed wire and get a hot-dog.
I can munch on it as I consider,
The death of stars the greatest tragedy,
Or nebula of blue, that bow their heads.
Blackholes, that we do not know are wormholes.
It's something to resist, ‘The Tragic End.’
In the secrecy of an angel’s heart.
Comentários