Monday, December 21, 2009

Against the grain

I'd kiss you hello, I'd kiss you goodbye
I'd think our lips would never run dry
But the mobs bring their pitchforks
And the pulpits throw brimstone
The sheep are all begging for us to atone

These waves that would crush us, this air that would suffocate
Are but mere distractions to be left at our wake

So come take the plunge, enjoy our show
The pyres will be burning until there is no more

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