Drunken Poetry - Flying Up To Outer Space


	Flying Up To Outer Space Your fingers tell a story; your voice echoes out high while a sheath made up from artifacts you've collected in your life falls o'er your eye There never was a freak who looked so chic as you See it in her eyes, when you're granted their view She who stands as a figure for me and you Couldn't stand on her own, so she needed a special shoe At the base, there was nothing, but the music and her dream For a time, it was all that could abate her stifled screams Yet you couldn't be satisfied, on the threshold, life was a bore Of who you were, who you wanted to be, and the difference, you couldn't be sure All the tears that you wanted to cry, you wouldn't spill them any more They wouldn't come out, not even face down on the floor Sweat burned between your knuckles and wet the pillow that you grasped You've always felt like one great big giant dirty ass An awkward little fixture, so plain and underplanned One day, you decided: I am going to change my name Maybe then life - maybe I - won't be so mundane Now you cock your face up high, portraying strength beyond your age Basking in the love to be found for you there on stage Like a queen upon her throne, you show magnificent, benevolent grace And your songs penetrate the universe Flying up to outer space Your star shines up so far into the black hole of infinity Higher and farther, until they can no longer see The blackness cloaks your agony as you penetrate the mass Drifting up swiftly Spiraling into madness You're dead now, you just don't know it: your body is spent And you can't remember a time when you've been more content Author's notes and comments maclasch