Here we go again,
The long haul into winter.
To find a Christmas destination?
That’s easy – just go… nowhere.
Flicking coins all afternoon
We don’t know what happened to morning.
The cobwebs, the drink, which first?
When late nights become early dawnings.
You know why we do this though, right?
Escape from it all, responsibility, life
Insurance, the fresh wounds commitment deals
And scars. But some things never scar.
I’m talking open wounds, baby,
The inescapable, that which cannot be
Forgotten, or left behind, and
No, I’m not married!
I’m not saying wounds are bad,
I just don’t need any more,
The ones I have help me look inside myself
And remember where I came from.
That’s why this year, for Christmas… I’m going home.
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3 comments:
I don't suppose anyone ever told you that you're a dead freakin' ringer for Jean Reno as Victor The Cleaner.
If you don't know what I mean, then relax, it's like the ultimate compliment.
Funnily enough, two strangers randomly told me that, a girl in a newsagent's and a guy working in a camping store.
He's not a bad person to look like, but he's much beefier looking than me.
So you look like Le Nettoyeur and you can write poetry...and you're alone on Christmas? Give me 5 minutes and I'll scare up about 3 dozen people who would fall all over themselves to roll out the welcome mat. :)
I've been an occasional fan of your other blog for a while now, but just found this one. It rocks.
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