Blued and rued

Lights and noise
Surround me
Indecent thoughts
Suffuse me
Angry eyes
Succeed me
And I'm getting good at this whole 'fucking things up good and proper' routine.

Imagine it. We're a

Myriad of pyramids of vibrating bones and
A matching set of caskets crammed with muffled misery masked
Disguised and given up and rolled up and done up and
Even though words are rued, they

Aren't exactly lies

Music makes it hard to hear you and contrition makes
It hard to look at you
So lets bury the hatchet, I'll bury my
Thoughts and fancies in the catacombs
And crypts, cellars and safes of my mind that won't
Keel over until I say or
Every time you make me smile.