The sand-castle virtues are all swept away in the tidal destruction, the moral melee.
To tell the truth, I'd scare me too.
He hears the silence howling catches angels as they fall, and the all time winner has got him by the fun.
The legends lie cradled in the seagulls call, and the promise they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall.
Snot is running down his nose, greasy fingers, smearing shabby clothes.
I'll make love to you in all good places, under black mountains and open spaces.