Don't cry to me,
when she breaks your heart.
Don't cry to me,
you were told from the start.

Your self-serving prophecy,
for a down payment,
a disgusting choice,
"what she can do for me!"

You can't call something trash,
pull it from the can,
and by some miraculous flash,
expect it to act any other way.

Don't call me,
when it's over.
I could care less.
Don't call me, ever.

We both know your nothing but a lie.

Part 1

Into the night; the bone chilling, bloodiest part of the night;
wearing the skulls of enemies past, silently they crept.
Checking their list like good St.Nick, the last one wept.
Who knew Karma would turn up such a fright?

Heads wrapped in burlap, wrists tied with wire,
into the van they go like lambs off to slaughter.
Silently, she waits; her father's jaded daughter.
Never again would they make her out to be a liar.

On cool moist virgin sand

in front of fire clouds

under the rising autumn sun

where there are no ripples

on the quiet Atlantic

or even a single sea gull barking

is where you are found . . .

when faces that have smiled

slowly bridge from colorless places

impossible to forget

Oh! Yes I remember my first bike ride so well.
Grazed Knees and grazed elbows, bumped head,
Hurt like hell.