Panic In The Sky

In your diary I lost myself, running through pages and dodging words over head, hiding in November, where I am mentioned every third line and there's stars and there's moons dotting the "i's" in my name, in my name. Writing is neat, cursive and bitter, daring ambitions and no time for pleasentries, obsolete relations.
Self adhesive thoughts are stuck in, centre fold, ashes resembling roses, cold heated keep sakes.

Fall to your feet on my grass stained knees. Take me, shake me, any way you please.

Here we are living together in between covers just like the sheets we shared, until mid December. One click to midnight and it is my birthday "Happy 21!" with an embrace, so brace yourselves.

Fall to your feet on my grass stained knees. Take me, shake me, any way you please. Threw me a rope in the shape of a noose, that's what you call 'helping out', laugh in my face and tell all your friends, then you can write it down.

I want plenty of anything, I want plenty of everything.

Written by Chris Yeoman- The Cardiac Solution