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Array
(
[sid] => 129947
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Dark Haired Lady from the Dirty Shore (The Red Aviators)
[time] => 2006-12-30 00:28:28
[hometext] => A take on current events, frames of mind and the Y-generation. F.W.
[bodytext] => Every time I cross something out It scribbles back on again It’s almost as if nothing’s permanent And so misfortune never ends So I whistle softly from now on Because I know big ears can hear And I shiver when I’m alone To ensure no one knows my fears With teenage portraits of seductress There’s some sort of sexual freezing Iced over hearts in city streets Making lust frosted over the deceiving And everything is just crystal clear now In a literal sort of sense And it’s hard to shatter ignorance When this ice’s so solid and dense Dark haired lady from the dirty shore Where the windows crack from rusty seas And is fathered down by wilder beasts Do you take me for some poetic freak? Or mistress, now, may I speak? Now I watch the crimson moon And reread old nursery books I’ve come across With red riding hoods and pigs in threes Never knowing “happily ever” had its costs And these tectonic plates are shaking under I move even when I’m standing still In my twenty first century feared youth suit Officials scream I’m dressed to kill I’m wondering why I’m wondering I’m thinking why I thought I’m betting all I’m bound to loose And selling what I’ve bought Tricking all this trickery Seducing all this sin Waiting for the wanderers Twenty years in the same place wondering where I’ve been Dark haired lady from the dirty shore Where the windows crack from rusty seas And is fathered down by wilder beasts Do you take me for some poetic freak? Or mistress, now, may I speak? And coolness might be some art form I’d of represented lives ago But now it’s mistook for garbage All this discoveries what I know Wearing red aviators on my velveteen face They rest on my head, bold and new Maybe things will start making sense If I see them from a different point of view So the tortured come The torturer’s all seem to go They’ll all be strung up In earth’s tears known as snow And the blood comes down their necks In trickles as people gasp desperately But you know with red aviators on There’s no blood for me to see Dark haired lady from the dirty shore Where the windows crack from rusty seas And is fathered down by wilder beasts Do you take me for some poetic freak? Or mistress, now, may I speak? [comments] => 3 [counter] => 253 [topic] => 51 [informant] => Franciswolf [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Event )
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