A practiced and oiled lie slips,
Transforming the air through contamination,
Into a veil to serve my obscurity.
With a twist of fate
And a curl of the lips
My visage presents as pristine,
Breaking me free from that fucking gaze,
Holding me in place.
But free men are doomed,
To make something of themselves,
Usually a mistake.
I could settle for a lie,
Oiled and practiced,
If I could only borrow your eyes,
(Now that it suits me),
To see how that smile keeps slipping,
Through my fading hands.
If you find your eyes searching,
For some answers in my lips,
Ask for me with my brother,
That ever done-up clown,
Sing-shouting on the swings,
A drunken lullaby:
You can’t drink pain away,
But empty bottles make good storage,
So choke down the day,
And tonight you’ll drown in courage.