I Gotta Eat

As if the music had wings but the notes dripped with tears. Speaks of everything he's loved and everything he fears. His fingers, they dance, Speak of torture and romance. With a glance from askance frozen in stance I'm enraptured . I'm held in a trance. He woos, he flows. He creeps longingly through your clothes. Seeps in between the cracks that intervene your toes. He glides, he slides. Trapped inside, a wailing to his woes. He hides, he strides. He desperately cries. Can't quite find what touches he spies. Deep inside his mind. In his eyes. He frantically reaches. Scarring and breaching he searches for hope. He seemingly beseeches for a place to elope. With the bride of his pride caged and prisoned . Chain and torment. Torrid dormant deep inside. What could I do, wrapped so tight? Everything hidden from my sight. It was lost and I was stranded. I was implanted. With a plague of placation. Through the desperation of temptation. What would a person do in a situation, As this. What would they surrender to dismiss. To submit to a purpose different. Something more sufficient. More elegant, eloquent. Without remiss Without a miss On the mark of what's important. What meets the quotient of a life devoted, of a life emoted. With never thought of anything less than explosive. To search for truth. To search for truth. To search for truth. To enjoy the spoof of the truth of all that is removed and to intrude deep inside of you. To expose the truth. To search for you. To push through. To be you. Just only To Be. Just To Be you. -Angle Fatale- -ode to the street musician