If I could spread a line of cocaine,
clear across the state of Texas?
It would not numb my brain.
If I drank all the whiskey in Tennessee,
It would not cure the itch that vexes me.
I would still only have a beat up heart
and a picture of you, that tears my insides apart.
Therefore, I replay my dreams instead
as violets of blood, dance a two-step over my bed.
To the tune of a coyotes cry and my own bleak sighs.
Then while the black stone of the night passes by,
I get lost in the fever of love.
Stolen kisses and violets of blood are soon sweeping me away.
Passion feeds on what I have bled.
My disease is a hunger burning red.
This picture I hold is seething... with cold.
All of my nights plans, I grip in my hand.
Well, since you are not here to feel the heat or quench my fire.
I must just dream, of your hot desire.
I can smell your Nectars Sweet,
As I caress your picture with my smoldering eyes,
imagining I am lost in your clutching sighs.
I gasp at last as violets of blood flow from my veins.
Know this, every single one -- chants -- your -- name.