My lavender is burnt and loveless; Painful, devoured and helpless, Weak by the side of its dying corpse; Solitary yet at an age so young. My lavender cries in its daydreams; Giggles in sorrowful screams, And faints and dies beneath fun daylight; As though tortured and wounded by the sun. My lavender wriggles in isolation; Like those ragged clothes in damnation And there's no more death between heaven and hell-- For none is alive, nor breathes to live. My lavender longs not to drink nor die; But it sleeps by the hushed setting moon, Trapped behind the tail of his lethal winds; Blinded by too many mysteries, unseen. My lavender peels its own skinny bones; Its quaint lust cut and fiercely...
My lavender is burnt and loveless;
Painful, devoured and helpless,
Weak by the side of its dying corpse;
Solitary yet at an age so young.
My lavender cries in its daydreams;
Giggles in sorrowful screams,
And faints and dies beneath fun daylight;
As though tortured and wounded by the sun.
My lavender wriggles in isolation;
Like those ragged clothes in damnation
And there's no more death between heaven and hell--
For none is alive, nor breathes to live.
My lavender longs not to drink nor die;
But it sleeps by the hushed setting moon,
Trapped behind the tail of his lethal winds;
Blinded by too many mysteries, unseen.
My lavender peels its own skinny bones;
Its quaint lust cut and fiercely...