It takes balls, hell, it takes every inch, to keep spinning. To talk of flowers, or the death,

She reminded me of women, I used to see as a child, at family gatherings. Tired, not quite steady,

Brush teeth, Planes overhead, People I’ll never meet, Some words just dance, your words dance.

I couldn’t think, of anything worse. From the outside, Looking in. Draining your soul away,

Etched, in the valleys of the moon, staring from or to. Blazing the night, The autumn heat returns,

Oh dreaded day, bring light! Nothing less than the beauty that you are, The whispers and winds in mind, Shackled, deranged, slightly mad,

The port city and it’s secrets, The Sicilians drapes hung in the… The ghosts beyond the limestone wa… The sad holy brush of James Walsh… The sanctity of the unknown,

Soon as the sun, as life becomes d… I flow with a heart, all the worst… No more can I mourn, myself as I… It’s bright and it’s sad, but toda… like the years gone before, or the…

To sin enough, is to sin forever, shine dull nor pure, but fear!, fear the end. Does it end after night, or at the end of the day!

You have to, jump in with the sharks. They won’t eat you, unless you let them. You dodge and dive,

There’s not enough time, Not for seeing the world, no no But feeling alive, To hold your friend when they weep… For being in a hole,

We are like pebbles on a beach. Brought by the tide, yet not born from it. Sitting, and waiting,

My father talked often, of what went wrong, who his father was, Who he is as a father, Long drawn out conversations,