Paris
Indulging in these hysterical methods of sedation maybe pleases some part of your mind I know your visceral sentiments are but chemicals the horrors after tranquility are less than kind One hand holding Eliot, one hand reaching for your pompous dreams I'd never take you for an escapist if you didn't pour your guts out to the screens just a half-lived life with your half-closed Keats now the sky is awash with blood Paris, hide her from these thousands of fleets