The blood dripped down the cathedral spire
An image of childish lust, or imagination
Hurting the senses as they tried to stray
But the sanguinary image lingers on until today
The blood has made it's course down to my feet
Infected every paper cut. Malignant virus
erupt like Vesuvius in my veins, fuse to my thoughts
My innocence, ignorance, blooms out to nought
Grew older loving tenderness and love itself
Falling into it, shattering, crawling slowly to a stand
Wishing I was lying on a church steeple
Screaming and crying - a spectacle for the sad people
But never did I grow much more than that
Still making pictures of burning 'planes and 'scrapers
Told myself how I was therapy like laudanum
Soothing pains, relaxing restless minds for all of them
Escape, escape, I told myself, away from guilt
Run far away towards another land
But circumstances remained against the favour
My childish mind dissect by Brutus' Sabre
And when her wisdom last on me bestowed
Minerva, in her mysterious way would leave
me lying prostrate, vuln'rable before the god of time
Her lone oblation: knowledge I'd be ruined
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