The Morue Disorder

Soft you love me,
yes you lie.
You love me yet,
so true you feel me,
yet come to me by and by.
I'll show thee the love in me,
till we die.

Whisper so sweetly,
tell me your love,
let me listen to sweetly you little dove.
Do you wish to share this night alone?
No?
Well worth the wait, I'll wait for thee.

Where are you?
Where have you gone?
Will you tell me of songs,
songs and songs?
Will you tell me of songs?

The wind whispers deep disparing,
my mind it wonders ponders dreary with disparing.
Where are you,
what wouldst thou with me,
what wouldst thou do for thee?
Will you tell me of songs?

Gone?
Gone where?
Where did my heart mislead you?
Where did my love mistreat you?
What must I do to recieve you?
The world will swallow me whole.
I've done you wrong,
now alone I grow old.
If only my heavy heart knew why,
I'd beg great greater forgiveness while I cry.
To sleep alone
alone such nights,
is to be without of love of lites.
Will you tell me of songs?

Songs, songs,
dirty and disparing,
these sloppy songs.
What must I do?
How will I live?
Your love is gone,
and this I give,
a curse unto myself.

A curse of curse,
a curse it is,
I deliever my rhyme of curse...

Hollow follow,
the hollow heart.
Into darkness will fall this heart.
For forsakement of his noble love,
unknown or known or thus,
his punishment stands a-way.
Live out life as love in death.
Know no songs more come tomorrow.

Will you tell me of songs?

Title: "The Morue Disorder"
Thursday September 11th 2003
12:01noon

Coming next: "Birthday Blues"
In celebration of another lonely birthday.
I'll be 22 on the 13th.
Yippy scoodle dippy.