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Banquets
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Daggers
I ran with daggers, in the Brunswick sun.
Considered weightless, concerned by some.
To be left alone here, like it passed me by,
Grew old before my music died.
I wanted some. You want it all.
With hole in hands, come back to me.
You left with my youth and the finer things.
Stay young, stay loud. Stay brash and bold.
If I could spread myself through wide-open spaces,
convince myself my time had never been a wasted.
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Find myself asleep in dirty, dirty basements
with a sense of charm, It would be okay.
With hole in hands, come back to me.
You left with my youth and the finer things.
Stay young, stay loud. Stay brash and bold.
Not looking back, on what couldn't be.
You left with my youth and abandoned me.
Stay young, stay loud. Stay brash and bold.
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