take turns, chalk burns, it's light enough to show your highest low | take part, drop guard, it's bright enough to hide your lowest high that you can't control | it's not the bullet that kills you: it's the hole |
drugged sighs, name lies, the routines of a cute and tender brute | coarse lips, small hips, you touch them with the glove of callous love that ties your tongue | it's not the singer that haunts you: it's the song |
back turned, you learned each poem will in time slip your mind, each and every line | it's not the verse we remember: it's the rhyme |
it hits you as you come: it is not love that unites us: it's the bomb |
take turns, chalk burns, it's light enough to show your highest low that you trade for youth | it's not the lie that will break us...