It was dark yet the moon was full that night.
So I guess it wasn’t that dark and there was the light.
Blue darkness, my shadow and I could just stare.
My shadow? My shadow? Why did I care?
Cared because it’s fucking eerie to realise,
That the eeriness didn’t bother wearing a guise.
I stared back at the moon, its shiny wide open mouth.
Drenched in the shiny excretion I wanted to shout
It lied to me, just like when I was drenched before.
It’s been a year since the lie, and I haven’t gotten my score.
To score! A few tiny steps towards success, nothing more.
Every tiny step that I fail, and procrastinate in this empty shell.
I fail, because there's chapped lips again and I already fell.
Fallen low, because of every deja vu without any progress.
I console myself, no progress but I haven’t any less.
Nothing less, but the weather's too cold for me to be content.
Aspirations of coldness, cause I'm supposed to be hell-bent.
Inadequacy to aspire too small, without much bloodshed.
12 months gone. Its sensual epitome resides in my head!
Again! When you’re unsure if the familiar sensation is old or new.
My dry, year-older skin, cracked, no moisture in the air or dew.
Just a whip that cracks a familiar pain, so sharp and unwelcome.
Like a painful pill or over-eager whores, pick your cliché or your scum.
I've made a song about the clichés that I console myself with each day.
Things should have been done; my self-esteem wouldn’t have gone away.
Going where? Asked the moon with sly splendour that I can’t beat.
My tardiness exceeds my own slyness, so with the moon I can’t compete.
To compete? In submission the white deity finally made me bow.
I have nothing to validate myself with anymore, or maybe forgot how.
How lost have I been each year in this silent season that I use to contemplate?
Silently, the plans were never put into action; never did I clear my slate.
In a worldly state, of more materialistic dimensions, I simply had nothing better to do.
So I chose a simple task to think of the year ahead, so what say you?
And as I kneeled, I did what I'll do again and said,
Try again, its not over until we're dead.
There was too much to achieve that we never started dear.
So much to achieve, if only to begin, but there's always next year.
Fuck this, I didn’t really fail, I was about to start you see.
Too soon, I only stopped because winter crept up on me.