Jun 6
I guess it goes to show, does it not? That we've no idea what we've got Until we lose it And no amount of love will keep it around If we don't choose it
And I don't know what's got its teeth in me But I'm about to bite back in anger No amount of self-sought fury Will bring back the glory of innocence
My, my, those eyes like fire I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre Come now, bite through these wires I'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired Reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire
You can just tell the sort of books someone reads sometimes
