Home & Hell

It decays as much as it grows;

the old gathers dust

the new, in rebel-contrast.

My fading future

made ashamed by a shiny past.

The walls become monument

to lost ideas,

aging wood,

the wrong kind of men

and weathered glass

Blankets of lies make sleepy eyes

- my town, this is my place

Lord & master, now awake, of this crumbling space,

leather sofa torn, nothing left to pawn.

You take the shorn and torn

to a higher rent

to outrun the decay

with a fresh coat of paint.

This new place of mine

shall have sophisticated things

every degenerate pleasure

fit for delinquent kings

Till it gathers dust again

and ashes remaining remind

of how brightly I burnt

before my light went out

how many things I fought to fix

before I left my house.