Five of Eight

Misdirection Copouts thrown Cheap scapegoats Techno groans Engines rumble Emotions tumble My hands; they fumble Rocket missfires Screams of the tires As we come to hault My lips taste of salt Conversate Congregate Spend a little time Compensate Don't be late Dwelve inside your mind Claims i staked Had you pegged But still you had declined Broken heart Wasted art Yet still my hands are tied Tried to deny The feelings i hide Yet I set them all free So you possibly, Could let yourself see You never needed me A toy just a lust Avoid you I must Alone again. I have to be. Now we are lost A winter frost Still, every rose must die