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And All I Ask (The Past Is Done)

The past is done, the morning resides. The years fall away, there's no desire left in me. A stubbornness lives on, nothing more. Pain accumulates. We don't live in the same scenario. I take what's left. The energy dwindles. Damaged to a crawl. Remote conversations keep me going. Maybe it's the identity I want to play with. Maybe I have nothing more.

You dream of nothing more than to sit in silence and get lost in images. To figure this thorn of broken desires. Feelings get thrown out of the way. Perhaps I just decided there was nothing left in me. I'd only be left in debt at the energy bank. Dreams are built differently these days. Passions play a part but you're known to drive people away with your demeanour. You're just like all your favourite songs - a broken man destroyed by life and someone who alienates.

Feels like there's nothing left. 20 years of further alienation compounded by grief and trauma. You believed in lies because they were all you had. Brief moments of happiness were tantalising but your health worries caught up with you in the end. The humming drone of death rumbling in your subconcious. How easy it feels to be loved. How lovely it is to love in return. Even when sabotage wants to play a part.

Front-on/Side-on views. I've lost the taste for appearances. I know the things I used to love always had an element of thrill and fear. Now there's only the fear of certain elements. And all I ask is for something else to take my place. All I ask is for something that doesn't get twisted by the selfishness of others. 

Whatever you need is gone - you have to make do with meagre reserves. The thought of an illustrious present and future nothing more than a cruel joke to laugh along with in secrecy. You're not the man you were 15 years ago. If only being morose could pay. But then what's the point in it all - nothing good would come out of it anyway!

And all I ask is a different world, a different identity, a different way of life - something to take the away the pain. 

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