Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Singing The Wrong Moon Song

Sitting here alone on the floor beside my bed
My thoughts are claiming victims in my head
All about the stillness inside this room
Is illuminated by the moon

I said to my lover I will be returning soon
I lied again beneath the winter moon
I said to my lover I will be singing our tune
But I sang a different song under the moon
It goes like: “I’m a sightless sorter
With a profound disorder
Everything without order
I am holding at the border
All the things like a hoarder
Buried deep in the mortar”

Sitting here by my bedside table on the floor
I have oft been called words that rhyme with door
All about the stillness inside of this little room
Is illuminating all the lies under my moon

I promised my lover I would be returning soon
I deceived again underneath the winter moon
I said to my lover I will always sing our tune
But I sang a different song under the moon
It sounds like: “I’m a sightless sorter
With a profound disorder
Everything without order
I am holding at the border
All the things like a hoarder
Buried deep in the mortar
All my victims piled up high
Like a macabre wall to the sky
I just like leaving them to die
Let ‘em all hang out to dry
They ask why; I don’t know why
I just like to hear them cry”

My room is lonely and it’s silent
Some say I should just repent
If I did I’d feel I’m sorry
But, I know that I’m not sorry

I promised my lover I would be returning soon
I deceived again underneath the winter moon
I said to my lover I will always sing our tune
But I sang a different song under the moon
It sounds like: “I’m a sightless sorter
With a profound disorder
Everything without order
I am holding at the border
All the things like a hoarder
Buried deep in the mortar
All my victims piled up high
Like a macabre wall to the sky
I just like leaving them to die
Let ‘em all hang out to dry
They ask why; I don’t know why
I just like to hear them cry”

Sitting by the window on this floor
The moon is calling me a whore
I may not know what I did it for
I just know I’ve done this before

Promising lovers I’d come home soon
Leave them alone beneath their moon
I promise them I’ll sing their tune
Just so I can sing beneath another moon
Singing songs like “I’m a sightless sorter
With a profound disorder
Everything without order
I am holding at the border
All the things like a hoarder
Buried deep in the mortar
All my victims piled up high
Like a macabre wall to the sky
I just like leaving them to die
Let ‘em all hang out to dry
They ask why; I don’t know why
I just like to hear them cry
I’m a sightless sorter
With a profound disorder
I like walls made of torture
I hold them at the border
Pile them high like a hoarder
Buried deep in the mortar
All my victims way up high
Like a macabre wall to the sky
I sit to watch them die
Beneath a moonlit sky
I can’t tell you why

I just like to hear them cry”

by: Elizabeth Azpurua