There’s a certain kind of type That always does it right Elicits smiles and tears In the space between your ears The only sort of religion

I stretch your being You respond with shocked intrigue Sparks dance in-between

I thought that she Could be the one I thought that we Were having fun And then I spoke

I’m not sure how I’ve come this f… From sinking pit to shooting star. Could it be when I loved my scars… Or when I chose to be this bard? Maybe, it happened, as a lark.

What if I watched with no judgement or saw without shame, nurtured your essence behind drawn shades?

Give me... A campfire, Smokes, And a bottle of rum; I’ll regale you all night long.

To tell you the truth I relish your cum It’s the best homage To a job well done

I cast the blame on you and her That just might be a bit obscured To tell the tale with honest voice I have to acknowledge my choice

Never gonna be The cover of Glamour That sure doesn’t mean I’m not still enamored With your energy

You’re nineteen You can choose who to be Nineteen Maybe fancy and free Nineteen

My soul knew that I can’t accept A fucked up view or perspective So threw me to the darkest pit To let my love be beacon lit

I am not an actor That is plain to see I am just a shepherd Tending to his sheep Try to keep them safe from

The world that I was born into Is not the world I want I work to try to get back to A one that values plants

I’ll tear myself from limb to limb For you to suture up again It feels like the perfect win/win To play our roles, morals and sin

We might be just a bit fucked up And, God, I hope that’s true ‘Cause that means life is nothing… The deepest passion’s hue