By Anton lock-wiz@mailcity.com
Date: 24 October 2000
Getting over you - the start
Am I smirking or smiling? Oh dear, what a mess.
I bet you'll find it riling, when I won't regress
Won't go back to the fall, won't go back to the waste
Bet you'll find it so irking when I just won't taste
Just won't taste that black bile, that you'll offer to me
Won't accept the invite to share your destiny
When I'll stand here alone, claim that I've had enough
That I've longed for your arms, for your breast, for your trough
For the filthy steel barrel, in which I would drown
In which I would just float if your will would come down
If your will would come down, like a stone, like a weight
Press my chest to the ground, hold me there till I'm late
Till I'm late to my wedding, or late to my grave
Till I'm late to be king, even late to be knave
So you'll ask me to go, with the plan that is yours
To embrace, to enfold, to unlock all the doors
All the doors to my soul, to my heart, to my mind
First unlock, then leave open, leave swaying, to grind
Let the hinges turn rusty and squeal in the wind
Let all starts miss their time, let the chaos begin
And when you have succeeded, to thus me dement
I am sure that you'll leave me...
You have my consent.
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