Awake on a vacant plane, only to find stilettos kicked into corners.
The orange neon glow of heaving skylines can cradle to an early guilt.
Stranded by the womb and left with the Wolves,
You can’t help but turn to Marilyns and a syringe filled with fire.
A deep, heavy glow keeps hearts dreary,
Begging your bones for more than just double-take lives.
Passion, your drug of choice.
Sense, just another word for “guilt”.
Talentless walks between life and blood have brought you here to me,
And here is where I plan to keep you:
Cassius and Othello.
Let’s dip our lustful fangs deep into the city’s vitals.
Like a talentless swan, these Carpenter Limbs continue
To tighten their grip around my gauzed neck,
But you’ll help depress them, and leave your marks in me
In a more considerate manner.
O, talentless swans, take me back to Angel City
And lets watch all the dreams we should have fucked
Find their way into our homes.
Act two; we find Exigency and Timbre alive and well,
Deprivating holy ghosts in alleys with silent actions,
And for four years, let’s start a travesty choir
With baby boy singing the soprano!
And with every blow that gets landed atop this statue-esque facade,
We come closer to the destruction of a family
And the start of something beautiful.
When the time comes to pick between the two,
Will the vibrancy of Exigency compete with the reckless independence of Timbre,
And allow history to repeat itself time and time again?
And will baby boy continue to sing soprano, only in a new key?
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