Hot Cross
Solanka
Dolls and shells, dolls and shells.
Three sheets to the wind, and swallowed by fortunes twisted spells.
An empty hand for a lifeless eye
glimmer lost and wasted and spent on hallowed stifled ties.
I preach to the converting with a tongue less disconcerting
and a name pulled forth from ashes scattered
when the fruits of our labour hardly mattered.
The poor obsessions of solanka.
Crash meets head in a blur of demons lost and fired fed
betting these last inches of rope on a new machine left for dead.
Wasting years praying for solanka an uncharted mind
embracing spirits of another kind
From Letras Mania