I want to cover you in
All the dirt that I can find
Wrap you in tiny places
Disguised in blood of your own kind.
Your literary hair is dripping wet
Birthing tears from every strand
Criticise the stains –
Messiah’s blood on cripple’s hands.
21/01/2011 at 7:47 am
Love it and now that I’ve heard you read, I can hear you read it in my hand.
21/01/2011 at 8:39 am
Thanks, Ben. It’s actually a reasonably old song that I wrote.
I’ll Facebook you a link to the song on myspace, it’s up there in all its embarrassing glory, haha.