He wants a front row ticket
To my destruction
He’s a broken mirror
Seven years bad luck
But I murdered the feelings inside
Chopped off their heads
They ran around
Like headless chickens for a while
Then dropped down dead.
He wants a front row ticket
To my destruction
He’s a broken mirror
Seven years bad luck
But I murdered the feelings inside
Chopped off their heads
They ran around
Like headless chickens for a while
Then dropped down dead.
‘Lust is a poor, weak, whimpering, whispering thing compared with that richness and energy of desire which will arise when lust has been killed.’
from ‘The Great Divorce‘ – C.S Lewis