| Blues are falling like showers of rain
|
| But I don’t feel like crying
|
| Death is abroad this day
|
| But I don’t feel like dying
|
| I learned how to sustain myself
|
| How to sustain myself in storms
|
| Her tongue was like a scythe
|
| And all her bones were haunted
|
| A scapegoat for her life
|
| Was all she ever wanted
|
| I learned how to sustain myself in storms
|
| Sir Bedivere slept in the field
|
| His armour strewn around him
|
| Curled foetus-like beneath his shield
|
| Still weeping when we found him
|
| I teetered on the edge of doom
|
| Degenerate and broken
|
| She sucked the poison out of my wounds
|
| And spoke the great unspoken
|
| I learned how to sustain myself in storms
|
| His monstrous ego, whipped and driven
|
| Raged beneath his clothing
|
| The compliment he paid was given
|
| Not with grace but loathing
|
| Deliverance is at the gate
|
| With arms and gold in store
|
| She apologises for being late
|
| But I don’t need her anymore
|
| I learned how to sustain myself
|
| How to sustain myself in storms
|
| Scoured and stripped of all pretence
|
| Shorn of all illusion
|
| I offer nothing in my defence |
| — you may draw your own conclusions
|
| I learned how to sustain myself in storms |