Just Passing Through
Habit, like a creature, is creeping among the young girls whose beauty and perfection pull at the eyes and grind the heart.
The elevator's coming up from the basement of my shoes, boiling my blood and pouring my love away.
The moonlight catches on your plastic diamonds, spreading feeble beams across the pillow where you tear drown in cotton.
It's midday, the darkest hour, when the sun scorches a dry gully through my brain. So wide a bus slips through swimming in passengers too apathetic to kick me, even when I'm down.
The flickering finger points out the mistakes and ties up my mind with a neat bow of guilt. And I know I'm not getting out of here alive but I'm not ready for death's rattle and roll.
So I start up my motor and plunge into love's desert, headlights beaming a scorched path through beauty and daggers while the passenger seat fills with lovers almost as ragged as you.
Their double-glazed eyes reflect your double-bass mind, that's just passing through, just passing through.