No Heart
Call me No Heart
This life I shall depart
Of this life I will carve
A tale of a boy named Harv
Love is stupid and decrepit
Who knows a damn thing
Who can fix a broken wing
Whatever can I today sing
Who can be my eternal fling
A barren, hollow machine
Forever with the era of thirteen
Embedded upon my unaging flesh
I prove to be an uneven mesh
Of a boy searching for love
And a creature unhumane as a dove.
Love is a casket . . .
I'm an apple in Red Riding Hood's basket.
If I want a clown
I'll only get a frown.
Why
This disconnection of frames of minds
Why
This reconnection of dames on male behinds
Break my design
Who knows a damn thing
Who can fix a broken wing
Whatever can I today sing
Who can be my eternal fling
A creature born with a broken design
Waiting for the stars of fate to align
Temptation in the deep tunnel of broken pumps
Reveals the unelegant emblems of guile and lover rumps
On the soggy skin of a trapped kid in a satin bed,
Results from the freak to whom he gave head.
I'm corpsed in my loneliness that blows blue
All the men have fractioned in this unconcealed clue,
Once a fool buried in purple fountains of fur
And know I learn to bow and say "Thank you, sir!"
Am I such a selfish bastard that I should wisp away?
Am I such a faggot that my God I should betray?
Risky is the business I dance upon
But a lover's prance is never truly done or won . . .
It is the eternally breaking stone
Or the aging ring of a telephone.
Welcome to my Pleasure Dome.
Who knows a damn thing
Who can fix a broken wing
Whatever shall I today sing
Who can be my eternal fling
Conception of stars is my ill-fated groove
But Comprehension is my next articulated move.
Mirror, mirror in the hall,
Who's the fucked amongst them all?