emulating the un-emasculated

         (prophet: “you’ve got to be true to yourself”

          me: “yeah, but at what cost?)

 

in my youth i spoke no truth although i thought i did

i spoke or wrote just like the folks i worshipped as a kid

i was a choice without a voice imitating their lives

decades later i found my voice and my own set of lies

in looking back i sure had fun, a leaf upon their stem

and after all is said and done i’d still rather be them

my years number longer than theirs and some i’m twice their age

the dark streets of decay, this one act play, upon this stage

saw the audience leave, the curtains drop, the lights go out

i’m still performing in the dark with no one else about

blank faces stared at what i shared, confusion culled their minds

the critics called me crazy or at best i am maligned

 

“so make your way to better days

far from the dark streets of decay

go ‘fuck yourselves’ is what i say

you don’t care why i’m here to stay”

 

because just like robert smith i am watching myself fall

and when i’m in the intermix it’s all just a masked ball

 

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