Sylvia of Wilcrest Rd

As these brimstone grazes wither in the sighs of yesteryear
Whiskey serenades never did sound so sweet
For the bores of tounge lit candle shades adorn plagued walls
When midnight bares the shadows knife for ambiguous love
And the dull ember life telegraphically yearns for memory

Oh, the boy she was to not ever be
Never in the sight of an angels company would she bow for curtsy
For herself, if not all, the pathological liar
But the reflection always did betray the stigmata
And the mists of hell would soon envelope this wanton self-saboteur
Forever torn, Sylvia was beyond the remedy of winery induced escapism

For me, a spiders web this ponderous worth of nostalgia
Always delicate whilst inhaling fags laced with sorrow
Cross with myself considering few words of armored knights
If I could have been the savior or merely pieces of parchment;
White and unimportant
I had once secretly sought after the beauty of a soul uncertain
But the romance for a tombstone now sears at my affection, my affection for dear Sylvia