Nick Drake


Nick Drake
In some other time
we are kindred spirits.
Souls welded into hot iron.

You could've been
my Trent Reznor
and burned into
my flesh.
Our tragic hearts
would've lamented in
the sorrows of love
and life.

Where you are
does the moon
drip pink?
Is it morbid and smiling,
like the height of a bad
acid trip?

If genius is born
then must die young
let me follow
in the footsteps
of your melancoly haunt.

"Copyright © 2006 MLB. All Rights Reserved."

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