Fluorescent lights flicker in my darkroom,
Shadows bounced off the walls keeping me company
as the second hand on the clock crawls.
Sanity has left me RIGHT where I sit,
so I put these words together
in hopes, you can help me make sense.
Madness unknown to most,
like I’m the only one alive
while everyone else is a ghost.
The Distillery image is historic;
I suppose the history is what we hold on to.
I love the fiction behind the facts,
the truth is.
I’m burning the mid-night Oil
watching the smoke rise into my eyes;
it’s the only time that I cry.
Sad isn’t it?
I have been away far too long,
it’s been awhile since we last spoke,
so I hope you don’t hold on to the last notes that I wrote.
The language we speak isn’t the same,
pretending to be friends but you’ve forgotten my name.
If it wasn’t for dreams you would have forgotten my face.
I have fallen from grace,
a sinner on earth from
the midnight oil we taste.