Post by glenn on Oct 14, 2006 11:25:11 GMT -6
near a shelf on a wall of a room that is looming
the apothecary tends to a potion black and fuming
and he sees as he eases the pain with some more
his face in a mirror that hangs on the door
that falls to the floor and breaks with the shock
but the image laying scattered continues to mock
and he covers his eyes and his ears and he's screaming
like a child who's been crying like life has no meaning
like the rhyme of a song on a radio blaring
like the horn of a car of a man who is staring
at his face in the mirror, all cracked and distorted,
and he's hollow and wretched and old and contorted
but it all buckles in and the world is like sleeping
as he fingers the gun whose dark bullet is creeping
through the blood and th pain, like the wine and the tatters,
till his mind is a mirror and like pieces it shatters
the apothecary tends to a potion black and fuming
and he sees as he eases the pain with some more
his face in a mirror that hangs on the door
that falls to the floor and breaks with the shock
but the image laying scattered continues to mock
and he covers his eyes and his ears and he's screaming
like a child who's been crying like life has no meaning
like the rhyme of a song on a radio blaring
like the horn of a car of a man who is staring
at his face in the mirror, all cracked and distorted,
and he's hollow and wretched and old and contorted
but it all buckles in and the world is like sleeping
as he fingers the gun whose dark bullet is creeping
through the blood and th pain, like the wine and the tatters,
till his mind is a mirror and like pieces it shatters
