You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt…
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs, Rotting…
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size But when…
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his…
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt…