Who the fuck are you I hear you say
Well I'm the one that makes you pay
You talk of pretty,
helpful,
nice
yet all the while you have your vice

Too fucking helpful's what you are

I was bored last night so I cut myself
It hurt! but in a pleasant sort of way
when I opened my eyes this morning
the darkness had gone away.

I will cut myself again tomorrow

Can our memories be our tomorrows
Is the future locked in past
when we started was the ending sealed
in winters? overcast

leaving hope the last vestige of minds once demented

I Am
The one who gave you comfort when you thought all hope was dead
ironed out the twisting road to make it straight ahead
who helped you sing a happy tune when all around was bleak

The crimson tint of sunlight Quivers upon the golden corn
As barn owl flows the air now cold leads silently to dawn
Breaking shards of sunlight glitter soft on dewy grass

Only 16K to fight and die
100K more to sit and lie
Will we ever say enough is enough
Whilst Orwellian dictates rebuild the trough.

Give more to the rich who started the mess

I am the born again virgin resoundingly heard, Davina-esque among the hallowed walls of learning:

I see you and it hurts;

Struggling is a way of life without remorse.

Pain,
The barrier long crossed consuming and vile yet ignored in day to day terms.

Beware all little greebles,
as darkness draws nigh
For the hornswags are watching,
way up in the sky,
when you fall asleep,
you're dreams they will find
and come of the morning,

Icicles, Made of blood, meshed together as a barrier, holding back the love eternal,

Dreams, Lying broken, empty of meaning, littering perception distorting reality,

Sitting,
Waiting longingly,
Contemplating the first moment of sight of your sweeping form,
True you would scolded me for the very thought that you,
In my eyes at least,

You thought I was a stranger
Yet I was no stranger than any other!

I have a house, a home, a family
I even have a mother!

You wanted more than I could give
Even though I'd given of myself

A soul is gone but pretty soon
the heavens will shine under a paper moon
for the soul that's gone? A one apart
the magic that was Tony Hart.

You must remember as his influence lingers

How odd of God to choose the Jews,
For some to win and some to lose,
His son was given:
Not for mirth
But to establish later Israel's birth.

Later on in case they whine