'If you Don't believe this...Sell Your Soul'
A plague upon your wrists While Mary's shadow Remains lifeless, Sleeping with the flowers And you're pure in tongue Yet careless in motive Carrying your love's head on a stick You feel closer already Like fireflies in heat Cut off from the world Drowning in illuminative sweat Subtle and Beatufiul As Marry appears to be a slush Leaving her lips upon your knee You call her "mother" She remembers your eyes And untouched she still remains You call out to God Stuck in his throat Lying in his belly And his laugh cuts off your love Her head fresh Your rattan is thinning And "mother" is but a voice And for you... Sweet Mary spreads The taste rather bitter Your prayer unheard All of this And still... Not a soul to sellThe title was taking from a radiohead theme... rather unsettling.... :) Written January 9th, 2002 © on Jan 09 2002 03:19 AM PST 18 • 0 • 1
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"A plague upon your wrists..."