Pour Out The Past

Hold tight and fast to what is born,
For the emptiness, it cannot last
And while others wait to see what comes
You fill their heads with rotten milk.

The silk that made your mother's garter
Will be used to barter for filth
That should have been cherished like
The aging pages you no longer read.

You just bleed dried blood from empty veins
And stain your off-white night dress
Because sleeping naked would feel too good.
It's no surprise you're so depressed.

The sour smell stars to overpower
And overtake all of us except for you
Who tastes sweetness at the slightest touch,
But it's not the Lord who longs for you.

What's half empty should be all the way gone,
Ready to welcome the whiskey and water
Or red and white wine, but nothing beyond.
Now pour out the past and sing a new song.

So play the pipe organ to accompany fate
And wait there for years just to hear
A tired melody that longs to retire.
Even the words are aware of their place.

So pour out the past and sing a new song
And empty those bones that are soaked
In the mucus of musical death.
The right to compose is all we have left.