i'm clicking your fingers for a gothic twilight
that actually existed just in your head
your fingernails painted black or bloodred
i forget
and your fake-leather volumes jabbering on [bad word] manifest decadence was what you hoped to exhale
your eyes tried so hard to glitter

a star-snuffing black so you opened your books
and you opened your legs and so opened your heart
and let in the badness you claimed as your friend

with un-angels hovering like flies around the orchard
that had covered your soul their empire increasing
and your country deserted by your self

the bells of st. mary call us to remember that life is with end
and the gestures can kill us moreover destroy
and there is one judgment only

your letters came daily in french or in german
but they meant to me nothing i caught the slow chords
and dry ice fogging your mind

i see all too clearly now why you could be discarded
and though i could pray for you i probably shan't
having had my cup filled up with your lies and your make-up

you were nothing thinking you're something

and nonetheless i still write this gothic love song
a sign to myself and the memory of my past
i still write this gothic love song
a sign to myself and the memory of my past
and a way to shut out your face