Violent Dreams
You’re the king of all your violent dreams, the rules you set in stone, an empty glass of kerosene to fuel the fire below, you’re the god of all that you survey, but no god even looks at me, another dialling tone.
I’ve been down I’ve been losing sleep, I’ve been moving like a beast. Show me your scars, where your broken bones are poking through the holes, I’ll show you the bite marks of your teeth.
You worship all your impulses, the frequencies that ring, and I’ve been hungover for 5 years, but I’ll go drink again, tired games towards my bed, what’s one more between fucking friends, and no friend fucks like you.
I’m sick and tired of these confines, I’m a slave to grey skies. Show me your love for this post-industrial riverbed of rust, I’ll show you the heights that we could climb.
Oh the smell of sweet decay, in this daytime TV power-play.
Well the shadow on the bathroom wall tells me the sun’s about to fall, like the blood into the sink, and the clinging vomit stink, and you’re going out tonight, your well-researched, reflex fight or flight, to get out of your head and to get someone in your bed.
Amphetamine buzz and alcohol fuzz, my old friends pride and greed and lust, I tried to hide behind my lies but nothing else now will suffice, it’s half 5 in the morning, alive with a warning, licking powder off a mirror with the daylight dawning.
Show me your pride, in this D-Day, Dunkirk, Viking, Jacobite, I’ll show you the places where I’d hide.
I’m always voting with my feet, they float above the ground, a disconnection from the world like a spark that gets drowned out, pour some petrol in to me, I’ll show you all my energy, we’ll be like rays of sun.
Lipstick’s on the bathroom wall, we’re writing in our code. Give me an inch, and I’ll be your blue eyed Sunday morning bitch, pull the pin and watch me explode.
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