• It was ten shy of eleven
    in a hazy sort of heaven
    laughing with an apathy so green
    and the truth was underlying
    here lay autumn slowly dying
    October's dark looked bitter as caffeine

    call this a last resort of sorts, {of course (echo x3)}
    but no repentance, no remorse
    no, not for this, for this I sing
    of sin and gin and everything
    that lets me write of distant shores
    and other petty metaphors
    without much care for how I feel
    regret, or other such concerns
    like how each nervous tendon burns
    and yearns to scratch a line or two
    that seem to be quite overdo

    so long it's been since I have seen
    the edges of your smile
    sly and sweet and full of heat
    so quick and versatile
    alas my love you do me wrong
    your words are harsh, your will is strong
    impassioned and with style

    very much with style
    a lady to the end...