Bind Date

idk where this came from...

No connection

Was the misconception

That struggled with perfection

 

In the aftermath

Of midnight’s masquerade,

 

When certain plays

Have all been played,

 

And the serenade

Is on parade,

 

And hands are used only

                Only to keep away the shade,

 

And mouths whisper only

                To click away the keys

                Of the piano

                That never sleeps

                And weeps

 

In this routine

That—

                What could it mean?

                What could it mean?

 

Have you ever seen

The way the moon

Shines like a watching eye?

 

Please,

May I leave soon?

 

Leave this midnight’s masquerade.

 

There is no perfection here—

Only misconception

And dread

 

That soon I’ll be dead,

And this parading serenade

 

Will bury me.