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Mrsix

of

Glasgow, Scotland, UK

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mrsix@punkass.com (Mrsix)


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Underground Calling.

by

Mrsix

I tell a tale of misguided love,
That labours up the hill of heavenly truth,
It was well over not that I knew,
T’was the Autumn late the night closing in,
I crossed the lane down past the maple trees
As they changed their robes to a rusty hue
My face hardened ‘gainst the breath of Zeus,
As I clutched my coat, and pushed through the leaves

Underground calling,
Underground calling.

From furrowed land where I’d worked the day,
I found his coat hanging on a chair,
With even steps and musing gate,
I rode the stairs to where my dearest lay.
But there she was on Bobby Preston’s chest,
Their legs entwined in a tender knot.
The sight of her in her lover’s arms,
Would draw iron tears down Pluto’s cheek.

Underground calling,
Underground calling.

They couldn’t run from my hunting blade,
As it crashed through the sheets and took them both.
Volcanic fury of fiery red,
Rose like a phoenix to consume my bed.
Silken remnants gripped her body tight,
In one last catatonic embrace.
She laid there reaching her highest noon,
As my bleak veil descended.

Underground calling,
Underground and falling.

She turned to me and raised a smile,
From the scarlet rooms inside her heart.
A rapt soul sitting in mine eye,
There held in a holy passion still.
A mental prism without release,
Dying souls on the breathing wind,
That age won’t weary or time offend,
Like the death in me when she met her end.

Underground and falling.
Underground and falling.

I tried to run a pressure in my head,
Fallen angels giving warnings.
I fell asleep in the Priory grounds,
Subdued by timeless gravestones.
Sanguine flowers inscribed with woe,
Danced in the moonlight as I slipped away.
And who knows what became of me,
As I sank below the old willow tree.

Underground and falling.
Underground and falling.