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True FaithIve seen whats falseAnd held whats trueTo lose my soulInside of youThe day I diedTo live againTo find an endTo all my sinFor all the heartsIve cast asideAnd all the hopesThat Ive deniedTo be here nowThis dream to liveAnd thus my faithTo you I giveInstead of churchOr god aboveFor now I knowTrue faith is love
Cemetery CatsThe wolves were out that nightand all of the hook laden quipsthat we concoctedfell upon lipslike a hummingbird's whisper.Then, they ignited into flameslike burning stars.That should have been us:beautiful ash, supernova romancewith tongue and fingers soaked in ink.We always did find the taste of Heavenstale, like coffee three days old.And with that taste still lingering,you were a walking oxymoron.A sinner come to savethese easily swayed, glass bonesfrom smashing into oblivion.I longed to taste that wild,untamed energy beneath your skin.Devour that dragons heart,and tattoo love along the bruisesI begged you to leave on my arms.[ The 7 deadly sins wrapped up into one nasty little Pisces. ]You made me violent.Names come and go,but the race of theserose petal heartswont easily be forgotten.--As we spent our nights in graveyards,with ghosts, in the company ofstone angels and cemetery cats-Whispering our secrets to the dead.
The Harpist's TaleI have always loved strifeAll of my lifeI have tried and travailedEndeavored and failedTo pluck from my harps the most dissonant chordsFor my kings and liege lordsYet my strings only humKeep it mum, while I strumAnd will not reflect the strange cords of my heartThe discordant cords at the core of my heartThat will not in life take a sensible partSo walking one dayIt was springsurely May?I happened to traverse a broad rivers bankAnd there, wet and lankHair of gold, skin of pearlBleached near white by the swirlTwas a maiden who washed on the shores of the flowWhose lithe body danced with the ebb and the flowWhile the little waves played with each curled furbelowI thought for a bitBit my lip, till it litAn idea of slyness that twirled through my headFor a maiden so deadDoth no purpose serveLest I alter her curveAnd form from her body the loveliest harpThe most glorious, dulcet, unusual harp;Twas either she that, or a meal for the c