POEMS: 1990-96

by Jeff Robertson



How many times have I sat beside the open portal and
leaned my face against the cold steel of the metal frame and
gazed wistfully outside ?
The gentle kiss of nature's cool breeze is on my cheek, but
it is merely flirtation, titilation, nothing.
I can not really feel the wind in my face or the grass below
me or the sun above me or the red-berried bushes that
lie about me.
Others, free from this prison that binds me, go about on their
own merry way, laughing and making remarks that must
have meaning to them but which merely dancing in my
ears for a moment and then are gone like a passing aquaintence.
I notice the forest beyond the grassy field and my
mind is filled with thoughts of escape to its hidden
recesses and calm shadows. Someone addresses me
and I wake from the dream.



When I was very young and others my age were
running and jumping and playing games like hide-and-seek and tag
and ring-around-the-roses, I was sitting and wondering
about things like why is the sky blue and why the
sun shines and how a video game works.
Now, I long for the pleasures that I
ignored in my childhood.
But the others have grown up and I have
no one to play with.



I am as alone as the moon shining in the
night sky so cold and hard amid the
sea of stars, surrounded but separate.




The pigeons loop and dive
on the sidewalk in the setting sun,
and the hallowed flags and yellow ribbons
throw seizures, contorted in the breeze.
and children follow in their parents' footsteps
from the cars to the stores, and vice-versa.
And the music on the radio matches the tempo
of this town full of loops and dives
on the sidelines of the setting world.



Swimming through a sea of airborne wetness,
the lone bird struggles against the wind,
fighting the rain.
The lightning is fast and fatal.


No more bird.



If food could think, would it accept its fate
calmly and gracefully, or would it kick and scream
and fight in vain everystep of the way to our mouths ?



The one I love is not with me, but she is not sick or dead.
And no one has taken her away against her will.
And there is no sick relative whose bed she must visit,
nor dead one whose funeral she must attend.
She has left because she wanted to,
and that is the worst reason of all.



I am thinking
but it is only in my mind.
Who will know what I think
if I do not tell before I forget?
There is an invisible wall
that separates everyone and
it is the only thing that
unlike cities and nations
and we ourselves
is not torn apart by time.
And I can only gaze through at others
and wander what they are thinking.



I could measure the distance
between us with a yardstick,
but the gulf that separates
our hearts is still unswimmable.
I could reach out and touch her
body but not her soul,
and what would she think?
Would she like it?
Would she even care?
She seems so delicate and
I don't want to break her.
Does she know that
I'm staring at her?
I wonder if inside
she's lonely like I am,
but how could she
be so beautiful
and still feel that way?



People are talking.
I hear them.
Don't know what they're saying.
Don't care.
People are singing.
I hear them.
Don't know what song it is.
Don't care.
People are laughing.
I hear them.
Don't know what they're laughing about.
Laughing at me?




Look at the old pictures,
remember where you were.
Sing the old songs,
remember who you were with.
Think the old thoughts.
You can't go back.
Does it hurt?
It always will.
And all the while,
the rain keeps falling outside.



I want to shout at the sky
and the earth and everything
until my throat and my
lungs and my vocal chords are sore.
I want run to no where,
running from the world and myself
until I can run no longer.
I want to break something.
I want to hurt someone.
Glass breaking; Bullets flying;
Women screaming; Children crying;
What I want is to laugh!
Laugh at their pain!
But I know that if I did
I'd be sorry and I'd regret it
so I won't hurt anyone.
I'll just scream.
Scream for help!
Help me!



Truly there is some dark, evil conspiracy at work here.
Worse than watergate and the Iran-Contra scandal.
For someone has unfolded a sinister plan to insure
that I am not able to see my love today.
And this terrible dark cloud that hangs over me,
made up of a mixture of loneliness, anxiety, and despair,
shall continue to opress my heart, soul, mind, and body,
until I once again see my Vision of Loveliness.



The weight.
The pressure.
The suffocation.
Can't breath.
Can't move.
Can't hear.
Can't see.
No light.
All dark.
Dead weight
Darkness like lead.
The sun will come
if I live that long.



I've got butterflies in my stomach just thinking about it.
Can't stand to wait any longer; I'm going to scream or explode or die.
Then the butterflies go to my head and I can't even think about it.
Then the butterfiles go away; but they will come the back next time
I think about it, until the weight is over.



We sail headlong,
right on,
many strong,
dead wrong,
into the Hurricane
at the speed of a train.
Who's to blame?
We know our names!
Like a flame
that's burning too fast,
we know we can't last
the blast!
The mast!
The rest :
Curse the Hurricane!
Mourn the moon's last wane!
Don't blame!
Call the name!
Call the name!



Great big wart upon my face,
Wart that will not go away,
Get thee back from whence ye came,
And leave me looking just the same,
As I did before you did arrive.
Are you dead or are you live?
Will you got away with time,
Or must I cut you off with knives?
From that place upon my face,
get thee back from whence ye came.



It must be fate
but it should be a crime
that my heart is yours
but yours not mine.
I've lost my mind
and I'd give my soul
for a chance to have you
once to hold.
But I know you love another man
and I'll have to let him take your hand
because he must be
more worthy than I am
of your graceful, lovely ways
that will fill his lifeling days
with everlasting
Love and Light.

So hold me close
just for one time
I want this memory
to last a lifetime.
You can't comprehend
what I feel for you
but its just as well
because you don't need to.
I can live with separateness
as long as you find happiness
somewhere, my love.
Just let rememberance of this place
help me fill my lonely days
with a little bit of
Love and Light,




Are we all part of someone's dream?
If we are, who is dreaming the dream?
Are we all part of someone's game?
If we are, who is playing the game?
Did I write this poem?
If not, then who did?


See the table?
See the chair?
Is any of it
really there?
What good does is it
to ask of you?
You may be
illusion too!



Ants, ants, in a grassy roadside park,
what is that you carry with you
into your home so dark ?
Ants, ants, what is that leaf so green ?
is it a cradle for your children or
an umbrella for your Queen ?
Or food to feed your hungry,
or a home to house your poor ?
You don't seem to want to answer,
so I will ask no more.



The sun is hot in the open field,
the shade is friendly beneath the trees,
where the insects they are chirping,
and where the birds they sing. But then
a white fluffy piece of cotton
becomes the master of the sky,
and Father Sun sees nothing,
for a patch it hides his eye; and
for just a little moment
sounds on my ears press
of the creatures singing louder
as if they are in distress.
Far away a bell tolls
and I turn and see you there
with the resurrected sunshine
triumphant in your hair.
On the other side of the field,
a white bird flies.



There you come walking with your tail in the air :
an antenna for signals from who knows where.
Yellow coat with stripes on back.
Watchful eyes with pupils black.
I stroke your fur, you groom yourself.
You must belong to someone else.
A thing like you alone in the park ?
Whatever will you do when it gets dark ?
Now you stroll over to your masters hand;
and it was all just another one-minute stand.



The Sun is hot on the sidewalk
but a chill runs down my spine
as the singing swinging tone
of the paraplegic saxman
impales my smalltown heart
and reaches deep down
searching, mourning; drawing
the tears from my eyes and
the money from my pockets.



There you are melting like ice,
over just one rose
he gave you,
while I sit and listen
as you tell how
it's the only rose
you've ever been
given. I would
shower you with all the
flowers of the earth,
for one kiss from you
would be rebirth
for me as I burn
with the inner fires
that I could turn
outward for only
you, for the pen
can only hint
at what
lies within
for you. My love for you
is the sum of the eons;
the primordial sea churns,
the ancient hunter's hunger burns,
the nuclear blast will
burn you with passion
as you rise from my ashes. Kiss
the ground that you walk on ?
I will be the
ground; you have
no need of it who
can walk on the
air and the water
and ride my waves
forever if you can
only start the engine
and begin down the road that
takes us to the sea ;
if you can only
find the key
that is within your
heart and the courage to use



Is it that I stand
outside your window
in the dark of night
basking in your light
but unable to touch, though
I can see you vauguely,
or am I looking out
between bars which no one can see,
but that I feel against me;
that this is all about
which keeps me hidden in your mists
until I can break either in or out
and you can rid yourself of doubt
and surrender with a kiss.



You laughed, you fool !
right in my face
when I tore my heart
out from its place
and you held it right
in your own hands
you could have stared
but you laughed !
You laughed, poor thing !
you did not know
what was that light ?
that eldritch glow ?
How could you not understand
you could have smiled,
but you laughed !
You laughed, how blind !
you could not see
how my words did
speak of me !
My mind and heart were cut in half
waiting for you
and then you laughed !
You laughed ! or could
you not accept
that it was you
for whom I'd wept
my ship was wrecked
and I had no raft,
you could have thrown
me a line but you laughed !
You laughed ! instead of shedding tears
to help me wash away my fears.
Did you really think
you had it figured out,
or were you just
afraid, so you laughed !
You laughed ! like all
the other ones
who, afraid to
leave the safe warm sun
shrugged off my cries
and walked on past
I thought you most of all
would hear, but you laughed.



I am the fly that bangs its head
against the lamp-shade, until you
destroy it with a rolled-up news-
paper, as if it could ask you
"lead us into the light, Carol-
Ann", but instead becomes nothing
as you say "die!", and your sister
calls your name, to to go to the Place
Where the Dead Walk, but you can hear
in your ears a chainsaw in the
distance and some-one calls for his
mother and steel claws scrape. I am
the Fly. Help me.



This is the Void, the Great Stygian Abyss.
This is the Waste-Land, this is the place
where Langston's Dream explodes,
where Frosty the Snowman melts,
this is the Place where the Dead Speak,
and the Lemmings have come !
Come from Alabam' with a banjo !
From the shore of Gitchee-Gummee
by the Shining Big-Sea Water !
From the Other End of the Galaxy
in Hyperships with Gravitic Drive !
Here to the place we have made.
We made this bed before we knew
what we were doing, and now
we lie in it.



I am surrounded at dawn,
I am beleaguered at noon,
will they ever leave me ?
will they ever let me be ?
I am trampled at dusk,
I am smothered at midnight
by the heat of their breath
and the smell of their sweat.
Thus it has been and
Thus it will be.
How can they stand it ?
They don't seem to care.
It is cramped in the womb,
It is crowded in the graveyard.
Even when we are alone,
we are trapped.



waTching The clock you can'T
see iT move iTs hands
gradually, in sTep
wiTh Time's unresTing sands;
buT if you look away
for an hour of a minuTe
you can look back aT iTs face
and see The changes in iT.



Ever changing; never ending;
broad tomorrow will be no more
like this moment than this moment is
like forgotten yesterday, and
even the race may change ( who knows ? )
in time. But a good thought and a
good poem and a good book always
has something to say, as if all
happened at once when it was
written in the mind of man;
ever changing; never ending.



I came up for air one time today,
just in time to see and to say
hello, but you didn't give a shit,
so I went back down to
my pit.



Down in the dungeon
Down in the dungeon
it is dirty and dusty
and dark and dank
with a million places
where someone
could get lost.
Down in the dungeon
Down in the dungeon
there are creatures and monsters
and demons and evil
and a million ways
that someone
could get killed.
Down in the dungeon
Down in the dungeon
there is magic and treasure
and gold and diamonds
but it's mine !
My dungeon !
not your dungeon
not anybody else's dungeon
it's mine
all mine
all mine
all mine
Down in the dungeon
my beautiful dungeon
Down in the dungeon
my wonderful dungeon
Down in the dungeon
Down in the dungeon . . .



Small Talk in
Small Talk out
who really gives damn
as long as I'm left out
no future for me
how can I walk
to the ends of the earth
if I can't Small Talk ?



Is it too much to ask to breath,
and not be smothered by your false love ?
Is it too much to ask to think,
and not by confused by your senseless talk ?
Is it too much to ask to rest,
and not be troubled by your meaningless presence ?
Is it too much to ask to live,
and not be slain by your misguided sympathy ?



So young
so old
so dead
so cold
so small
so weak
so poor
so meak
so deaf
so dumb
so blind
no rhyme.



I feel so weak and small, as if there was nothing to me
but a little speck of flesh on the face of a ball of dirt
in a sea of emptimess full of suns and worlds, with
each holding it's own
secrets, and none of them ever to be known to me.
I feel so meak and helpless, as if there was nothing that I
could do to change anything of the universe or even me, and that we are all
doomed to fail because we can never ever be strong.
I feel so cold and lonely, as if there will never be in the entire world wide
any love for me, and that I will pass all my days alone in the
wilderness, feezing and weeping.
But then I look around in awe at what lies about me, and I think of the
universe with all the cities, and all the people, and all the secrets of
stars, and I know that I'm a part of it even if I can't
know all about it or change it or find some love in it, and that is
But not really.
I go to sleep feeling tired, despaired, hungry, yearning,
with a great big gaping hole right where I think my soul should be that will
not go away and that I can't seem to fill.
And nothing, no one, will ever help me, not even me.
Good night.



O Dawn, where is your radiance now ?
when the clock ticks like a death-watch in the house
and the faintest sensations, near and far
of crickets, dogs, and doors, and cars
are carried on the night without a breeze,
and I feel the Shaking in my knees,
and the old tingling feeling comes over me,
and I'm only scared, not old nor young,
when words like "Ghost" are on my toungue;
and philosophy is a trap for vagrant minds -
"which is worse : an end to time,
"or the thought that They are here with me?",
but these are thoughts that musn't be
were there but light to let me see
that I am alone with my ringing ears
in the darkest holes of unconscious fears...
"Is that music ? That distant boom ?
"or might I be alive entombed
"and what I hear is the beating in my chest
"as forsaken in the dark I lose my breath . . ."
No, my mind must not conceive of such,
Oh, God, Dawn, where is your touch ?



And the Evil Grinn mocks you each day...

How can you know all the things that I think of at night;
when visions of you are just out of my sight...

Can you see me:

A man and a monster, but a man just the same;
abusing himself like a beast in your name....

And all, the time
The Evil Grinn mocks you.



I'm just sitting here
typing my verse
when suddenly out of
the dark outside :
I shiver like you do
when course paper
slides against your
hands with a scrape.
Why ?
After all, its only
my best friend.



Bubbles of air in the crystal stream
rise as the bottle sinks down from above
reflections in you
and reflections in me,
why ? what ? where ? love ?

Rising to the sun and the air above
echoes of forest and sky overhead,
reaching the top
to solve the mystery,
who ? when ? how ? dead ?

Now I remember what I had forgotten:
bubbles are quanta of atmosphere
for what comes down
must also go up,
except for the bottle - it stays down here.



And she died in the fall when
there's lots of apples;
and John ( he wasn't but about
one year old ) went and got
one and put it in her coffin,
and said, "here, Mama, here's
you a apple".
They buried her with that apple.



Kiss me I'm naked,
I'm like a pecan;
My shell you have shattered,
now see what's inside.

Kiss me I'm naked,
as stark as the sun;
I float in your heavens
with nothing to hide.

Kiss me I'm naked,
there's nowhere to run;
I'm counting your heartbeats
with nothing to say.

Kiss me I'm naked,
just look what you've done.
Kiss me I'm naked
and lonely today.



I still remember when
you shaved the hair above your ears
and I started writing poetry
like never before.
Our paths came near, and I
thought they would cross, but then
for so long we were like
Momaday's deer.
I've changed, you've changed,
high school is a long time,
but the last time I talked to you
in the store that sells everything
but fractals I realized :
one more year to love you.
And the dogs and cats are still howling.



Sitting on the brilliant grass with
you all dressed like flowers, kicking off
your shoes, your hair flopping in and
out of your eyes (you're not wearing
your glasses, you don't need to see),
with the breeze cooling the sweat
of our heat, and the washboard sky
making all around look like a
picture in blinking ANSI, in the
field near the bean patch where
Hazel and Fiver hide.



By the orange glow of the stereo
I heard the DJ say your name
and I hoped it wasn't really you
to whom he dedicated that song
for some guy named Dan.
The Radio steals the words from me,
I've written that song before.
Now it's another song, somebody else's
turn to worry if some guy named Dan
got to whoever-she-is first.



Drippity droopity glip glep
higgeldy piggeldy fie
the cold rain falls on the doorstep
and keeps all the children inside.

Musselty gusselty doo dahdz
draggedy taggedy moot
the sky is all dark like mud-clods
that father tracks in on his boot.

Loppoty floppity bus beat
tickeldy rickeldy benz,
the fog is thick like the bed-sheet
that mother tucks under our chins.



I'll never forget the time I told you, "I'm weird"; and you
said "Weird is good".

Have you ever noticed that its much more fun to hear a song
on the radio than to hear it from a disc?

I dreamt that I held you and told you how soft and feminine
you felt, and you said "I like being soft and feminine".

For Her, I fought the great battles; for Her, I observe the
daily rites. For you, I am hungry at midnight.

In your voice I don't hear the past, but the present in all
its painful splendor. Shine on.

With Her, I could never been old or wise enough. With you I
am like an old husk of a man that history forgot.

Irony, I presume, is playing the both of us. We should not
be used this way. We are the Great Humanity. We should live.



I can't beleive its the same world
that used to look so cold.
I can't beleive you're the same girl
I thought I'd never hold.

I can't beleive I'm the same guy
I thought I'd never be.
I can't beleive that its your eyes
I thought I'd never see.

I can't beleive its the same one
that used to make me sad.
I can't beleive its the same fun
I thought I'd never had.

I can't beleive its the same time
that used to go so slow.
I can't beleive its the same life
that used to get so old



I had the shape of a boy and the thoughts of a man
and a heart like a woman - most easily broken
I had a head full of fantasies, stories, and dreams
and a blank staring face that could give no token

I had the voice of a child and the songs of a fool
and the wisdom of ancient ones - not did I know it
I had a soul full of puppy-love, lust, and teenangst
and a tear on my cheek did a little to show it

I had the wings of an owl and the eyes of a bat
and the walls of unconfidence - hard to climb over
I had confusion and turmoil and sleepless despair
and the fear of a book for the look of its cover

I had the backbone of jello and the wavelength of light
and plans like slick water - casually shattered
my net filled with jealousy, envy, and hate
but I caught you as well, and thats what has mattered.



I did not write those poems for you. No, when
they came into my head, you were nothing
as far as I was concerned. I didn't
know your name. But if I re-lived the past
I would write the love poems with you in mind.
They didn't mean anything at all when
I wrote them. But now they would all be true.



The mind that sees true greatness has
a greatness all its own;
for fools can never see the wise
but notice other fools.
The soul that knows no master seeks
an equal for a friend,
while those already self-enslaved
want servants to compel.
The heart that holds no envy finds
its pleasure in the world;
to gauge the self by others is
to live life upside down.



His arms - they twine around her waist
my eyes can't move, they're fixed in place
by something strong as glue,
I see the smile on her sweet face
and remember how it was with you,
when other people were so rude
when with our touch we were so bold
and told us we were being lewd.
No morality did they uphold
but jealousy, so hard and cold
was what they tried so hard to hide
when "mind your manners" we were told.
I know now why in haste they cried
to stop the love we wouldn't hide :
I want no one else to taste
the things I no more feel inside.



For years I was pre-occupied with finding
"the animal in me".
Other people could dig into their souls
and find something beastly.
I couldn't find anything but me, so I was ashamed.
and so I had to try and create my monster
the hard way.
It wouldn't work.
Other people seemed happy with their creatures,
but I loathed mine. And then I realized :
"The Animal in ME is Man".
What then, is the Animal that other people find ?
And, even worse, what is that in us which
is not the Animal which is Man ?



I have a friend who is in love,
he seeks the one he cannot have, chasing the
muse of perfection which he sees in her form.
Oh, for a goddess to pursue in vain forever !
I see perfection in the clear horizon, in the
smooth curve of a Stratocaster, in the radiance
of Beethoven, the passion of Browning,
and in the faces of great heroes.
But where is MY heroine ?
I know WHAT to look for, but my friend
(how fortunate he is) knows WHO.




I didn't pay for your kids' new shoes.

I paid for the way your music bounced
around the man-made caverns the song of a
hunter from the ice age.

I didn't pay for your mum's false teeth.

I paid for the way the tinkling notes
seemed to flutter all over like a bunch
of invisible bats.

I didn't pay for your next meal.

I paid for the way the wind from the
passing trains caught the strains from
your strings like tumbleweeds.

I didn't pay you for being poor,
I paid you for the riches you created.
And what I bought from you is a good
deal at any price.



"The role of the cathedral, so central in the medieval European
city, is filled by a U.S. invention serving both utilitarian
and symbolic purposes, the skyscraper."
- Encyclopedia Britannica,
15th Edition, Volume 29

Concrete and stainless
majestic and tall,
The towers of light
stand watch over all.

The streets full of madness,
the traffic so mean.
The towers of light
rise calm and serene.

When all men are brothers
but no men are friends,
The towers of light
mean nothing to them.

The state no more noble,
the law no more just.
The towers of light
they defile with their dust.

The young no more pure and
the old no more wise,
The towers of light
they can't see with their eyes.

But the hero, the poet,
the lover, the brave :
The towers of light
show them their own face.

Concrete and stainless,
majestic and tall,
The towers of light
stand watch over all.



I used to hear voices in the hallway.
They sounded near, but they were far away.
I used to wonder what they were saying.
I almost heard them, but never all the way.

Now I don't hear voices in the hallway.
They disappear; their echoes fade away.
I try to slumber; rest just keeps delaying.
I thought I heard them, but not when I'm awake.

I long to hear voices in the hallway.
And now I fear the end is here today.
I feel the thunder, and know what they were saying.
I should have heard them, but now its much too late.



Nobody ever pays attention
to you.
You break too many of their conventions,
it's true.

You just have to say
that they'll come around someday...
They don't matter anyway.

Sometimes it seems that it can't get much worse
when you're either the last or the first.
But NEVER beleive that it's a sin or a curse
to be either the last or the first.

The world just keeps on turning all
about you.
No one knows that it would surely fall
without you.

You just keep your dream
and they'll never make you scream...
For they can't be what they seem.

Sometimes it seems that it can't get much worse
when you're either the last or the first.
But NEVER beleive that it's a sin or a curse
to be either the last or the first.



I wasn't there to feel the surge
of vast discovery,
when men in creaking wooden ships found
land accross the sea.

I wasn't there to help them fire
the shot heard round the earth,
or feel the thrill of liberty
in a new republics's birth.

I wasn't there to be the pride
of the entire human race,
and see the world from on the moon
and look into its face.

I wasn't there to light the torch
or even run the wires,
I wasn't there to set the spring
or even stoke the fire.

But I am here to feel the breeze
as the sun breaks through the clouds.
To stand admidst the living world
and sing my song aloud.

It is my life, it is my time
It is my world to see.
And I never will see all of it
but that's alright with me.

Man is Such a Wretched Creature


Man is such a wretched creature, doomed to flames of Hell.
Weak in flesh and spirit sin hath made him.

The life of man is just a dream from which he can't escape.
Only faith in Jesus Christ sustains him.

The will of man is impotent to keep him from his fate.
Only grace of God above can save him.



My sword has tasted the blood of the infidels.
At eighteen I have spilled their entrails upon
the steps of their Pagan temples.
But I am not glad of these things, though I have
been told of the glory they bring.
Now all my thoughts are of Her.

I look upon Her hard beauty, the cleanliness
of Her cold marble. I imagine a man working through
the night, stooped over the dumb stone, ruining his
back and his eyes to bring Her forth.
That was ages ago, and his Pagan bones have surely
been scattered by the Hosts of the Prophet.

I saw her as the temple was set afire by
my brother soldiers. There was nothing I could do but
to escape with her into the wilderness. Her beauty is
a sin, I have been taught. Her form is blasphemy.
Her face is sacrilege. She is an abomination against
the true Faith. I am a damned man.

They will find me, and they will wish to drag me before
the throne for execution. They will wish smash Her to bits.
But neither She nor I will leave this place while I live.
I shall kill all who come, until my blood is spent.
I will die for God and country, as the great men have done.
These woods - my country, and She - my God.


(temptation song)

by J. Robertson

It used to be only the best for us.
Pizza, beer, and girls in their best
Guess jeans and pink-trimmed Reeboks.
And always High Octane. Now its
Regular Unleaded and Martha's meatloaf.

What's happened to you ?
Your grip on my wheel used to be so strong.
Now its just there, like you don't know
where you are. You don't even notice the
snotlings in the back seat.

What have you done to me ?
My tires are retread. My hatchback is
used for groceries, and the dog.
My floor holds Mighty Morphin Power Rangers,
and my bumper says "Don't Blame Me".

But we're not that old.
Lets slip away, just the two of us.
Listen to my engine. Feel it in the vibrations
of the seat. Understand what that feeling says.
Its time. Now, while we can still run.

Tender Spots


It was in that moment when I realized that your suffering is what sustains me.
Your cries for mercy, your vain appeals to your god - these are the things
that give meaning to my existence.
I looked in the mirror, and I understand what happened.
I saw myself evil, but I did not turn away.
I did not condemn it, nor did I flee in fear.
I feel a new freedom.
Freed from morals, freed from compassion.
I have no more secret aches.
What about yours?
I use a different one to get you every time.
When they are all used up, and you are still alive, what will we do then ?
How do I keep you delicate, so I can break you often ?
Your voice becomes rough from sobbing, your skin is becoming like leather,
hardened by the beatings I give you.
Forced to find a new tender spot, I notice that my hands also are in pain from
holding the whip.

Broken Man


You are so beautiful it scares me.
My world is weakened by your presence.
The life I used to live is behind me.
The ground where you have walked is home.

I feel I've left the human race
and joined a nation of one -

The private universe that follows you.
The broken man who lives to love you.
I'd die for you if you asked me.
But you don't seem to care.

I've thrown myself down at your feet
to do anything you ask -

Except control the situation.
Except to challenge your dominion.
Except to look you in the eye.
And I know thats why you'll never love me.

And I know thats why you'll never love me.

Opened My Eyes


I've seen aside of things that I never knew was there,
before I opened my eyes.

I'm so amazed that I never even cared
about the beauty that's all around.

I'm learning something new every single day.
Will the wonders never cease ?

I look around in the bright light of the day;
and I'm happy that I've opened my eyes.



What the hell could I have been thinking ?
What in the name of heaven have I done ?
What on earth could I have been drinking,
to make me think that you were the one ?
(My special One)

I can't beleive you've really seen me naked.
I can't beleive the secrets that I told.
I can't beleive I've really been inside you.
I can't beleive I let you stain my soul.

Whatever could be the matter with me ?
Is a man supposed to feel this way ?
I supposed to feel like I have won you.
I think of what I've thrown away.
(My special Day)

I can't wash the smell of you from my body.
I can't rinse the taste of you from my mouth.
I can't rid my mind of all these memories.
No matter how I try to spit you out.