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Michael McGuire
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All My Life
I'm standing in line at the Bitter End, I search the crowd for the faith of a friend,
I find only the hurt and haunt of loneliness in all, Strangers wrecked by the same flight and fall, Empires and intentions all will come to this,
The cold lips of this open eyed kiss.
But there is no weather I have not swallowed,
All my life I've been a dying man.
Fortunes are kept beneath her shadow's clock, And the weight of the dreaming is the skull of the rock,
She screams to the world you're liar's shrunken head,
I just pretend I have nothing for what she said, To this and every nowhere I am debtor,
I hoped but I knew it could never get better.
She has a tease she spent greatly on me,
All my life I've been a dying man.
And the sorrow unstrained from the vine,
Is the euthanasia of the wine,
The tuning bones of the weather's whine,
All the mercy that was never mine.
I dreamt the map thought somewhere was here, She says let my body violate the ever-clear,
If it's me you want god riddle the snake,
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Can't turn the key for the doorknob's sake,
So graveyards; shipwrecks and Wall Street wishes,
Sweep the floors; milk the math and wash the dishes.
A blind in one eye scenario typecasts me,
All my life I've been a dying man.
Oh that the light may be delivered in heat,
Could you sing the clock of songs for this feat, She could grace the never with your bleeding,
Her definition set for breath and breeding,
But the futility of direction is intrinsic,
And desperation is a matter of fact forensic.
Never been outside the dictionary's hard pages, All my life I've been a dying man.
If the day can undo me could; this night renew me, From the barstool of this drunken philosophy,
The pennies and the nickels of this de facto world, Is the fortune round which the snake is curled, And I am all river's envy dumped into an impotent ocean,
Lost in the exhaust of this chronic motion.
Some are born to wreck rivers and unhinge orbits, All my life I've been a dying man.
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