Largo e mesto

Madam Life's a piece in bloom
Death goes ******* everywhere:
She's the tenant of the room,
He's the ruffian on the stair.

You shall see her as a friend,
You shall bilk him once or twice;
But he'll trap you in the end,
And he'll stick you for her price.

With his kneebones at your chest,
And his knuckles in your throat,
You would reason -- plead -- protest!
Clutching at her petticoat;

But she's heard it all before,
Well she knows you've had your fun,
Gingerly she gains the door,
And your little job is done.

He made sure to show I belonged to him.
And of course his trade mark,
was a bruise.

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She's screaming at me
from the tile floor of the bathroom
and there's sick in her hair
so I just ring her mother.

I'm disgusted at her,
it's pathetic. I'm sick of listening
to this, and holding hair back,
and stuffing my hand down throats
to feel the ***** crawl back up to catch me.

I'm standing in a house in a bad estate
and it's 8AM
and how did I get here?
I left my friend behind in a bathroom
because I can't bare to see her and remember
crying in a nightclub bathroom in Carrick
and not knowing why.

The room is spinning, but at least I'm smiling.
I think this boy is quite pretty, really.
Where is she? Sprawled out, puking
in the sheets of her bed. I'm not sympathetic.
Take your medication you headcase,
we need it to function - just take it, I swear.

Four hundred of us pour out
from the lights turned on,
girls in bare feet in the rain and the wind
to see Christmas lights on Grafton street.

Trinity’s beautiful, but not where the heart is,
the grass is muddy on college green
a cold breeze is whipping off the Liffey,
and everyone’s singing, low lie the fields.

The guards are milling, we’re trudging,
some holding hands or kissing –
bring me back to Stillorgan for ten euro?
*******! No come on sir, I’m freezing.

It’s grey, it’s wet and it’s cloudy.
I want Burdock’s or some dodgy chippy,
I want to hear the song of a boy from Ballymun
and live forever young in Dublin’s fair city.

Yes, it sure does look that way
When it takes 35 years
to capture 50 criminals
in a land
that claims to be FREE

FREE?
Free of what?
Not criminals

There are 50 crime
families on Garibaldi
Avenue in Lodi, New Jersey alone

Please officer

Oh, that's right

One of those crime families
is not like the other
One of those crime families
Rules the cops
and pretends to rule
everyone else

With bullying
And tormenting
And torturing
And acts in violation
of the Geneva Convention

Oh, but we are not at war with crime

Hey it's a free country
You want to practice crime

People have a right to be
Criminal

It's a free country

Okay

But, why can't it be
A crime family free
Country

Is ******, arson, strong arm assaults, blackmail, grand theft, etc... so glamorous
that a (free?) country
needs them

or even needs to
glorify them in
Movies and Television

Do we need
criminally run Hospitals
criminally controlled courthouses
criminally managed police departments?

I've spoken with
several government
Leaders on this matter
and they all agree
that they will promise
to look into this
as soon as they
can figure out
the economy

I walked down Garibaldi
Ave in Lodi the other
day
The crime families there
are doing quite well

But

They ain't talkin'

describe how you think the sky looks lately
how the leaves seem to fall in a certain pattern
what the silence says to you compared to what it says to me

sometimes the rain leaves love notes on my window
meet me by the river
the one you see in your dreams

i dream of the river kissing my eyelids
the cool water a warm blanket
tucking me in to sleep

i never sleep long enough
something tears me awake every time
the love note blown away

i find i’d been holding my breath
a gasp of air through aching lungs
almost as if i had been drowning

whenever i hear your voice
or that name of yours
my insides cramp,
and i find myself lighting another menthol cigarette,
once again realizing that it’s much sweeter than you ever were

You made me feel as though I was wrong
For needing air in my lungs
Love in my heart and
Reassurance somewhere inbetween.

Love lasts about seven years. That's how long it takes for the cells of the body to totally replace themselves.