No one speaks to me like they did
They think I\'m a quiet child, procrastinating in my insular mind
Perverted like a stalker at night, fuelled by the inferno of my regrets
I feel the cold air, the dark night sky brooding with every train that passes
I tighten the tourniquet and scream to let everyone know
I\'m cruising for sweet asphodel, the smell of daffodils when it\'s mizzling
My howling eyes repent but I\'m ready to sin again
Alive in the thunder of obsolete rays, I admire the pulchritude
The beams from unforgiving crops tired and falling into the cries
Of Mountain time, rivers tugging at true love, growing up in a different world
I light candles and leave them burning like whispering orphans
It\'s palpable, this atmosphere and the decadence
You are someone\'s son, but do they remember you
When you\'re forgetting?