Destroyer: Shooting Rockets (From The Desk of Night's Ape)

"Caution — hot ashes," the girl says to her first kiss. They stuck eternity inside a bird's fist just to watch it fly, just to make things go, just to let things slip away. Don't ask me how I know, I just do. Night's surgeon dons his robes to take apart a fellow amateur. Oh, I've heard it once said that one gives what one gets. Well, I didn't go out into the world just to be stung by a rich man's hornets. And who amongst us has left these things undone? Who let these animals into my kingdom? A blind doe learns to work the rig, a once-thin man turns into a pig: the endless groves wherein my soul pukes the night away.

The problem as I see it, I was messed up on a tangent that was wrong. They mix 'em strong and I was partial to the feeling. It is a terrible feast we've been stuffing our face on, a terrible breeze from the East comin' on... bearing the scent of our one hundred first kills. You love her. You leave her. You try to achieve a breadth of vision that she has from the start. I've got Street Despair carved into my heart. I've got Street Despair carved into my heart!

My dear, didn't you hear, a chorus is a thing that bears repeating? And the problem as I see it is — girls, stay away from that shit. Saw you in Swan Lake, you were great! Saw you down in Strathcona Square devouring an After Eight (who cares, I didn't mean it!) For your last encore you sawed yourself in half. It was just you and your raft and this crummy requiem: Shooting Rockets... Run or fly — at some point I had to ask why. I had to show you a world not tethered to disasters, but this would prove impossible. I snuck a look inside your skull and said — "Don't look now, but Gretchen's seeing red again." The truth is a thing to coax out of its shell. The truth: on this you and I are going to tangle! Off, treacherous bliss, off!

First you come in all sweet, and then on tiger's paws you retreat into a darkened, nether, shadow region. Hey, are they still serving that piss? Shooting Rockets...

And It'd be true what they say, were they to say — "Why, yes, I dig the scourge." It'd be true what they say, were they to say — "Why, yes, I dig the scourge." It's not that I quit. It's not that my poems are shit in the light of the privilege of dreams. "Alive," she cried once. Now, "Alive!" she screams. Shooting Rockets... Praise be the delightful muezzin tending his flock and praise be those alabaster hands running amok on your body. They love you in spite of your lame scene. We live in darkness, the light is a dream you see. We live in darkness, the light is a dream you see. We live in darkness, the light is a dream... shooting rockets...