i used to believe that love was a lie
but it's not
i used to cry for its lack, but it is -
it's just lost
i folded in love, i sunk so many stories

still, love's not all stories
it's heat and it's hot and it's
summer
then it's gone
with my tears after 2 am -
the time that i thought
about the miles between us, and the
inches between love and lust

no, it was love, i know that it was,
but it fell, it
collapsed on papery limbs
like a 17-year old girl does
when it fought

Travelers knew the destination,
Porters knew the way,
Explorers knew the pain,
And here we are, jolly l-a-y-m-e-n
We know the story!

with promises of forever,
I touched the love locks,
lit up by city sights and ocean views,
metal hearts hung, with faded names.
I touched the locks to bring some luck,
touched them with the promise of us.
That lock long since broken,
falls pathetic to the ground,
empty promises spill forth,
but no one is around
to see it fall.
I looked for love and found it lacking,
and you left, got to packing,
leaving broken metal on the ground,
the last mark of love,
of us,
underneath the bridge of locks,
forgotten tributes of love.

I tell my secrets to children
in the form of fairy tales
A "Once upon a time," is enough
to quiet down their wails
and I spin stories as well as spiders
weaving webs that a lost child
must navigate the tangled trails
with cleverness and wit
sharper than any sword
more accurate than any arrow
I speak of children who questioned
the established path of rejection
and this misguided idea of reciprocity,
"You must suffer because it happened to me."
Because my blessing in life was not brute strength
but a clear mind and clever tongue.
I tell my secrets to children
so that they may grow smarter because of them.

He cried for her to stay
She left with his heart in her hands
Drowning it in her tears
He slept with his fears
heartless he was
A savage seeking his next victim
Insecure growing up with no father
And an addict for a mother
Motherless Brooklyn
your city lights never sleep
Your heart sold for attention to the next buyer
Left alone on an island called Coney
Summer nights become cold as the heart of winter
Creating a cold killer
Oh Motherless Brooklyn she hopes you heal
But in the meantime she hopes
you spend time in hell
As you in hell
For the pain you caused her
Weak men fall victim to their insecurities
While blaming it on their passionless passion
aggressive nature, leaving prints on past lovers
While tucking Their souls under covers
Motherless Brooklyn you have not seen your sin
A fool to love you are
As you fiddle with old scars
You are a victim of a perfect crime