Ink, for macabre night
and ink, for the chilling noir
ink for letters most contrite
and ink, for a funeral\'s foyer.
Grin and my chagrin my charnel is full,
of names and places I\'d rather not mull
walking the street with the lamps overhanging
contemplating those moments I\'ll soon be forgetting
All of it a sad romance to a less than pleasant past,
affectionate in apathy, growing apart like enemies
whom I always tried to bury-
whose ties I\'ll cut with a topaz claw.
And give a bouquet for every black mark,
turn what was grotesque to fanciful art;
We hold our private funerals for our dead memories
lace them lovingly, and send them off into eternity.