Some people you pray were dead: the ones whose unattainable beauty slides across your eyes like paper cuts the ones who constantly wail their own fat horns in your modest ear the ones with the instructions on how to get into heaven
Some people you wish weren't dead: the ones whose voices on the jukebox at a quarter to three make loneliness a virtue or the ones who were too mad to be in the jukebox
Some people you can't picture dead: the ones whose ashtrays are never empty the ones whose laughter is like a bull chasing death over the hills
Robert Plath - Ashtrays and Bulls
Robert Plath – Ashtrays And Bulls
Some people you pray were dead:
the ones whose unattainable beauty slides across your eyes
like paper cuts
the ones who constantly wail their own fat horns in your modest ear
the ones with the instructions on how to get into heaven
Some people you wish weren't dead:
the ones whose voices on the jukebox at a quarter to three
make loneliness a virtue
or the ones who were too mad to be in the jukebox
Some people you can't picture dead:
the ones whose ashtrays are never empty
the ones whose laughter is like a bull chasing death over the hills