Title: Circle Game
Subtitle:
Artist: October Thorns
Album: Demo
Author: October Thorns
Copyright:
Tabled by: yanndc@hotmail.com
Instructions:
Notices:
Tempo: 90 BPM
Tracks: 6
Instruments:
Bars: 178

Lyric

The old game is afoot and I am hesitant to play because the outcome could be the bastardization of stabile regression.
Why toy with me?
To see if I can be broken into so many particles and questions? Or because you are as you are? As all of them are
Giggly sweetling up until I am gutted by your pins and needles and tossed aside like a rag doll, soiled and lacerated by too many insidious hugs.
Harder to giggle with no teeth and a mouthful of blood, isn't it?
Harder to clutch at my heart when choking on blood, isn't it?
Try to play now Toymaker.


Make me your jolly marionette and I shall dance upon stages of dead roses and don your primordial crown of poison thorns.
Ah, a Jack in the box are you then? Hiding inside and astounding me with devotion accompanied by dissonant bells of betrayal.
My head on a pike like a little horsey on a pink stick with plastic tassels and you ride us into the raging sunset, or so I thought... until I discovered my flesh ablaze and the sick smell of perfume and kerosene.
A one legged ant under your magnifying glass, I became scorched by loving stupidity and individuality.
I had to choose the special one, the unique that stood boldly alone and winked a wicked wink of "Like".
I thought myself Midas and you would miraculously turn golden and be fixed but you remained distraught and ashen.
Someone for everyone... but none for the two of us.
We, the rulers of a cursed sea full of leeches and remoras, eating bits and pieces of our corrupt sanity.
Stability? Ha! Normality? Even a greater comedy!
What is friendship among lovers but clinging to fleeting memories of transitory emotions?
Now you've invited the demons in for afternoon tea and contractual renegotiations.
The one of duality makes its carnal bed in our house and schemes with Morpheus, the first son of Sleep.

I dreamed of the rape of your mother while you watched in terror and I clutched the breasts of youth and infirmity.
I ever so lightly touched you with two fingers as you clenched your thighs tight and said, "No, you I will not defile, though wanton and warm."
When it was time to dine, you were stolen away in reluctant abandon for protection from an idiot ordained with knowledge.