Blow the Burning Crosses Out 
 
 

Today was another caustic birthday, 
she blew the burning crosses out, 
the smoke awakened memories of drowning, 
turned her mindset inside out. 
Years have crawled forward like a tortoise, 
their lazy pace has snapped her spine.
She's counting each hour,
but all of her power can't speed them.
Her face is so pale and lifeless,
a mask of creeping death.
The plot's worn thin, predictable.
She's tired of waiting,
she's tired of waiting.

Paper hats and dinner jokes, they haunt her, 
she forced a photograph smile 
and feigned a little interest in the ritual, 
raked her thoughts into a pile. 
Raise a wineglass to the princess,
another year has passed her by, she's older.
All rainbows and starlight,
you wish and you just might...
Her face is so pale and lifeless,
a mask of creeping death.
The plot's worn thin, predictable.
She's tired of waiting,
she's tired of waiting.

She fluttered painted eyelids forlornly, 
torn butterflies on ragged skin, 
but they could not fly, were anchored to her, 
colours faded from within. 
She's writing nightmares in a notebook, 
tears the pages, tears of rage, she cries out, 
"Can't swim any longer, 
my weakness grows stronger." 
Her face is so pale and lifeless,
a mask of creeping death.
The plot's worn thin, predictable.
She's tired of waiting,
she's tired of waiting.
 
 

(C) Copyright 1998
Nick Kellaway 
All Rights Reserved