I remember looking at flyís, spiderís or birds burn
The sight was forgettable, the smell disgusting
So why is that same smell now so comforting.
Burning flesh brings nothing new
Soldering iron plunged into my thigh
Not a speck of blood, just a blackened white ring,
Instant cell destruction, with absolutely no feeling.
Done for a smell
To remember a sight:
I think it was a sea gull
Forced to play a phoenix,
Even then we knew it was a secret.
Dirty boys in ripped clothing have to dream.
We were magicians until it stopped moving,
Were we killerís after that?
My thigh is starting to hurt.