In this quiet corner,
I sit and wonder what it would be like...
I lay unadorned for you
Desnudo...
Could these limbs pleasure you?
The blood doesn't emerge like yours...
What else am I left with, but knowledge,
and memories ridden with pain...
I pondered,
o'er dearest Abigail...
The clouds are a shroud
draped softly over me...
She's the daughter who is easy to forget,
The face he just can't seem to remember...
Rest your weary eyes on my shoulder
Wrap my arm around your heaving chest...
Summer sleeps, when winter wakes
In warmth it's numb from cold...
She lives only in winter
Even under summers sun...
Right now
alone in a room a man...
I want to harvest all your misery
In a tiny glass bottle...
The past is consuming my future,
it eclipses my present in hollow spaces...
I'm looking for a reason, baby,
to smash everything of you...