1. |
Come Clean
02:03
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I came into your room.
Babe, I came into your room, where the silence was my tomb; all the while, halfway up the stairs, I saw visions there of us smiling.
Babe it’s time to come clean, show them your arms, show them what you mean, show them it's real, show them it’s pure; in the afterglow, take shots to the jaw.
And she said, “Babe, I think that it’s time to come clean, show them what you mean and realise you made a mess here”.
Babe, I came into your room, where the silence was my tomb; all the while, halfway up the stairs, I saw visions there of us smiling.
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2. |
Swansong
05:14
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I turn my palms out in the rain, feel it beat down on my weathered skin; there it rests for a moment, until it joins the rest on the concrete, to complete its purpose, to fulfil its life, so on and so forth.
So goes the brave, to face storms, to intrigue the grave; into a dawn knows no names, a bastard's child who was never taught they could change, dressed for hurricanes.
I made a change in the veil of reality and the duality of the head versus the heart kept me in the dark where I thought the slightest glare was a blessing so I stared until dizzy.
"You'll miss me when gone" I heard the light that shone say, followed blindly for too long I went the wrong way.
It seems like my indecisions that cut my teeth all beckoning me.
When I close my eyes it all feels so real. Now, now it feels I'm still waiting.
I took a step back, looked at it there in all its glory, trying to decide if it was worth it anymore. Do I care?
And these ghosts they haunt and in tongues they taunt my indecisions. I digress.
I've been trying to think of what's best for me without you, beside myself I know I missed my cue and overstepped the marks.
The flowers you threw will wilt and though shattered I stand still, not by a form of will.
Not yet ready to discuss my mind and I know I’m getting better all the time and all the while I see your face in profile.
Before the winters you were a cold child, you made my warm embrace become mild and left my mouth tasteless, but I still taste you.
When I close my eyes it all feels so real. Now it seems I'm still waiting. I have never felt so numb.
Your touch is deadly but your tongue it hurts when it relies heavy on the response of worth.
I would never paint you a picture just to broaden my strokes while you dip in any old ink and write stories to cope.
The letters are broke; they do not hold hands and the words that meant something else now have no stance, like: "I love you".
(And all these little things don't mean anything anymore to me).
I'll be doing just fine; I see it all in black and white now: pain multiplied by time.
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Mudlark Caerphilly, UK
Lifelong friends from the Welsh valleys who write melancholic, poetic and dark oddities.
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