stolen kisses

 stolen kisses       the knowledge of flesh        that’s what I like        I’m not going to bring you flowers        I bring you blood     I bring you fire       I bear the awful gifts you secretly desire

 and where do you go?          and what do you see?        when you could be running wild with me        and  with the passing of the seasons       when the months roll into years      there’d be a million different reasons           why I’m almost always yours

hear my voice on the recent collaboration with musician and producer Calum Marshall: ‘Dagger’.

jump

 

my soul aches         I’m tired       sick and tired      this life will be the end of me       I’m on my fucking knees  here       I made a call to jesus      but he wasn’t home        could be my fault         I’ve been dialling a lot of wrong numbers lately       I finally got the message          I’m in this all alone          I won’t call no more       but where’s a boy to turn?      my life is on fire      and I have just decided          that I’d rather jump than burn     

suicide help guide 

abracadabra

 

back in the beginning       when your words were absolute      you spoke my name       and I came to life      my love was formed on your lips      what kind of fiction does that make me?       copyright  notwithstanding            sometimes I’m stony real        others I’m a mere affectation        I’m not sure what that signifies        could be I’m not real at all        just a minor character         in some worn out old story       whispered in the darkness          in the end there was a murmur          when your words were obsolete

the poppy curse

 

I’ve had bags of excuses     I could have quit      but I truth be told      I enjoy this shit       in any case         it could be worse      I could be stricken       with the poppy curse         for people can wither      or so it seems        like poppies wilting       in a field of dreams

listen to 'Dagger' 

the sum of the beast (the slaves of babylon)

 

she bore the mark     we all bore the mark      the crown of sorrow        the sum of the beast      for we were marked for toil      and bloodshed      the stolen children of babylon      grafting in darkness for five bucks an hour

she was a back alley goddess       turning tricks since she was twelve     but all her scars      and pox riddled body      could not conceal     the beauty within      she was marked for exploitation      a plaything for corrupted souls

I turned to her in my hour of solace     free of charge      no strings combined     she was the sun     and its unholy laughter      they stoned her to death      with a needle and spoon       I begged her to stay        she begged me to go

there’s no escaping this concrete accretion        this city is built on murder and greed      it’s foundations are carved in bondage and suffering        so turn to me now     you children of babylon       demons in limousines       are baying for your souls