Copenhagen Tom’s Kids


I fear there is something lost in the translation

so I apologise for the rude connotations

the shame etched into the

profile of your essence, in winter

drive me home to clandestine misery

picture perfect laughing sorrows

searing sunlight spotlights show us the

silent saints of your suffering

making merry in what was once

our happiness

Cry if it will help you to feel better

those tears were always my milk and honey

the butter on your fingers

makes it harder to hold on

complacent warden of our larceny

compliments with sardonic integrity

the boys are forgetting to breathe again

So all together choking down your bullshit

we smile our caramel-coated smiles casting

out an aura of animosity which begins

to pervade everything in front of me

let me ride away from your one horse hostel

and die face down in the desert, safely hidden

from the shadows that follow your words


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