David Bowie and Tears For Fears lyrics in this one.
People will hold us to blame
It hit me today, it hit me today. Because of all we've seen, because of all we've said
We are the dead. We are the dead.
Match flare blinding. Cancerous end glows dull and pulsing, a raw red eye.
One drag (first smoke shines grey on black).
Two drag (second verse, same as the first).
Three drag (joins the cloud, a darker shade of dim).
Cough.
Two bodies lying still and naked on the landscape once thick with heat and passion, now a dying dead dusted star, burned out and gutted and hung out to dry. Dark- it closes cold, thick, an icy shock of clarity changing to a leaden realisation.
Two bodies- both awake, both faking sleep. Two bodies entwined, welded together in the scorch of lust and now stuck in the textbook lover's folly position (see fig.4a). Two bodies together.
Alone.
* * * *
One thing kind of touched me today
I looked at you and counted all the times we had laid
Pressing our love through the night
Knowing it's right, knowing it's right
.because I *knew* it would happen how could I be so *stupid* and it's all *his* fault wait no- My fault. I'm the one, I'm the responsible one, I'm the designated driver, it's all me but my goodness it tasted good. He was- it was- never knew. I never knew about that I mean I knew about it it's there all around it has been since the start but here, with me, in me, it was here. And mine. It was mine. And they never told me. They NEVER TOLD ME about this. It's not love and I don't care. It could be.
The angel Aziraphale sat still and frozen, dead to the world, dead to himself. A quiet pool churning. Cold silver light from a dead planet shafting across his face like a blade.
But it has to be done (you never told me) because it's you or him (you never told me) and you know that much (you never FUCKING TOLD ME). He never told you. It's a game, all a game, and the loser is you. It's already too late.
Bloody half-crescents dug into the palms, self-enforced stigmata of a slut. Eyes straight ahead. Don't look at him. Don't look at him.
That's the choice. That's the deal and the plan and the 411 and the score. Baby. That's his choice. And ours. But not even a choice, if you like- the choosing is in the doing, if you get my drift. And if that is the way it has to be, then that is the way it will be done.
-and a, a *shift*, you see.in the angel Aziraphale. A feeling not of flight, but falling.deep, dark and long, and a single hand reached out. Just one, shining, perfect hand that was all he wanted, all he needed. All he was. Completeness. Eternal. It was so simple. Isn't it simple? Yes.
Angels hunger too. But not for themselves.
We're taking it hard all the time
Why don't we pass it by?
Just reply, you've changed your mind
We're fighting with the eyes of the blind
Taking it hard, taking it hard. We are the dead.
* * * *
It's.gone. Empty. Sucked dry as a bone and chewed to a mass of scar tissue.
The demon J. Crowley felt cheated. There was supposed to be an ending. There was supposed to be a soundtrack available and a Best Boy credit. There was supposed to be love. Brain worm settling in, happy once more. But who gives a fuck? Not me. Ha! I'm well hard, me. Well hard.
Gnaw, gnaw, gnaw.
Slipping away, even through the breath. Lighter than sand, sweet smelling, slipping like a silver blade into nothing. It should have been.but no. No salvation. No hope. And maybe, gnaw gnaw gnaw, maybe the wanting was alright. Maybe it was the doing that did you.
The beauty had burned so hard, so long, so bright it left a scorched and empty hole. Ashes to ashes, funk to funky, we know Crowley's a sex junkie. Gone, gone, slipped away. Turning to face the ceiling (don't touch him he's right beside you look out), away from the wall and Truth. Gone. The last bright, beautiful thing to feed from. Spent.
It was slipping away, he was slipping away. Face wet, stained. The demon J Crowley was not crying. He never cried. Of course. The cold hardness growing inside, taking over. And even now, the hunger within the demon J. Crowley stretching out, wanting something new.smooth, strong, young things.
Because of all we've seen, Because of all we've said, We are the.
.softly, quietly, gently even. But not fearfully- no fear now. No room for fear in a head full of terror. That's the trick, yeah, yeah, and yeah. Fill the cup till it runneth over. Softly, quietly, gently even step one two three, danse macabre all up the stairway to hell.
Don't spill.
Don't even breathe.
The angel Aziraphale walked step-by-step-by-step, eyes of glass and heart of pulp. Glistening trail behind him, feelings gutted and stretched out in a trail to help him find his way home.
I left my heeeaaarrrt.in your mouth. Your pretty, sharp mouth. Doo-dum-doo.
Steel grip on the bucket, don't drop the bucket, hold on to the bucket. The bucket is your friend. And the demon J. Crowley slept on.
Step-by-step-by-wakeuppleaseohpleasewakeupandkillmekillmenow-step. It's coming, it's building, it's peaking to the note, the highest note. We're there, baby. And it's you and it's me at the end of the world and we're laughing. We could laugh at them and sink into the sand, I love the shape of your mouth when you smile it's so smooth smile for me now. Once more. Just the once.
.gentle twitch. Unconscious. Lazy spread of muscles. Sharp white teeth, just a glint, a hint of Beauty.
Beauty.
All around me are familiar faces Worn out places, worn out faces Bright and early for their daily races Going nowhere, going nowhere
There was no screaming. There ought have been, but no.a sick, heavy silence that throbbed and rubbed at the angel Aziraphale. But there was blood soaking white sheets whiter skin, gore on snow. And there was pain.
And their tears are filling up their glasses No expression, no expression Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow No tommorow, no tommorow.
There was pain. Such pain. A clean, sharp ache that spread, a red flower of agony beginning in the chest and blossoming out to all around to every nerve. Baptism of fire. A bright world, with edges of deepest darkness. It was coming. It was here.
And I find it kind of funny I find it kind of sad The dreams in which I'm dying Are the best I've ever had.
The demon J. Crowley opened yellow lamp lit eyes, staring for hours and days and eternity at an angel. His own angel. It stood, a tiny sun to the demon J. Crowley's dying star. He saw sadness there, and fear, and need, all together. A shape as through a glass darkly stretched out the endless lands between them- his hand no more, merely a memory. The demon J. Crowley reached to touch, and felt the calm spread through him calm calm so calm and so beautiful. The need to tell thrashed within him -it's okay, it's okay, everything's okay- against lips that were rivers of darkness.
And the angel Aziraphale watched his lover die. Black/red blood diluted with the blessed water, pooling, spilling, so much of it. So much blood. The demon J. Crowley was awake, was conscious (he can FEEL it, he can FEEL IT) and watching. Don't look at the eyes. Don't see the hate. Don't feel the Fear. Blue eyes dragged up by hooks of despair. Yellow eyes scorched to black already there. And in there-
So much. So many years. It's okay, I'm so sorry, it's okay, I'm so sorry, I understand, I should be punished, it's not vengeance. It's not vengeance. The black eyes insist. The blue eyes hope.
("What if you did the wrong thing, and I did a right one?")
Click.
Clarity.
The lesson. It was all in the lesson. No forgiveness without understanding. No cleansing without pain.
No forgiveness without sin.
.the dark light of the demon J. Crowley flickered, and faded. Don't go without.it's not fair. To where, doesn't matter. Don't know, don't care. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay.
The angel Aziraphale watched the place for a time, numb. Thoughts still as winter and deep, deeper than sadness and deeper than pain.
Then he got a mop, and some towels, and cleaned up the blood and holy water. He washed and dried his hands, and made himself a cup of tea. One milk. No sugar. The angel Aziraphale cried for a little bit then, just quietly. Then he splashed some water on his face, and went downstairs to open the shop, while the sun rose over cold, empty streets.
Because of all we've seen, Because of all we've said, We are the dead. We are the dead. We are the dead.
People will hold us to blame
It hit me today, it hit me today. Because of all we've seen, because of all we've said
We are the dead. We are the dead.
Match flare blinding. Cancerous end glows dull and pulsing, a raw red eye.
One drag (first smoke shines grey on black).
Two drag (second verse, same as the first).
Three drag (joins the cloud, a darker shade of dim).
Cough.
Two bodies lying still and naked on the landscape once thick with heat and passion, now a dying dead dusted star, burned out and gutted and hung out to dry. Dark- it closes cold, thick, an icy shock of clarity changing to a leaden realisation.
Two bodies- both awake, both faking sleep. Two bodies entwined, welded together in the scorch of lust and now stuck in the textbook lover's folly position (see fig.4a). Two bodies together.
Alone.
* * * *
One thing kind of touched me today
I looked at you and counted all the times we had laid
Pressing our love through the night
Knowing it's right, knowing it's right
.because I *knew* it would happen how could I be so *stupid* and it's all *his* fault wait no- My fault. I'm the one, I'm the responsible one, I'm the designated driver, it's all me but my goodness it tasted good. He was- it was- never knew. I never knew about that I mean I knew about it it's there all around it has been since the start but here, with me, in me, it was here. And mine. It was mine. And they never told me. They NEVER TOLD ME about this. It's not love and I don't care. It could be.
The angel Aziraphale sat still and frozen, dead to the world, dead to himself. A quiet pool churning. Cold silver light from a dead planet shafting across his face like a blade.
But it has to be done (you never told me) because it's you or him (you never told me) and you know that much (you never FUCKING TOLD ME). He never told you. It's a game, all a game, and the loser is you. It's already too late.
Bloody half-crescents dug into the palms, self-enforced stigmata of a slut. Eyes straight ahead. Don't look at him. Don't look at him.
That's the choice. That's the deal and the plan and the 411 and the score. Baby. That's his choice. And ours. But not even a choice, if you like- the choosing is in the doing, if you get my drift. And if that is the way it has to be, then that is the way it will be done.
-and a, a *shift*, you see.in the angel Aziraphale. A feeling not of flight, but falling.deep, dark and long, and a single hand reached out. Just one, shining, perfect hand that was all he wanted, all he needed. All he was. Completeness. Eternal. It was so simple. Isn't it simple? Yes.
Angels hunger too. But not for themselves.
We're taking it hard all the time
Why don't we pass it by?
Just reply, you've changed your mind
We're fighting with the eyes of the blind
Taking it hard, taking it hard. We are the dead.
* * * *
It's.gone. Empty. Sucked dry as a bone and chewed to a mass of scar tissue.
The demon J. Crowley felt cheated. There was supposed to be an ending. There was supposed to be a soundtrack available and a Best Boy credit. There was supposed to be love. Brain worm settling in, happy once more. But who gives a fuck? Not me. Ha! I'm well hard, me. Well hard.
Gnaw, gnaw, gnaw.
Slipping away, even through the breath. Lighter than sand, sweet smelling, slipping like a silver blade into nothing. It should have been.but no. No salvation. No hope. And maybe, gnaw gnaw gnaw, maybe the wanting was alright. Maybe it was the doing that did you.
The beauty had burned so hard, so long, so bright it left a scorched and empty hole. Ashes to ashes, funk to funky, we know Crowley's a sex junkie. Gone, gone, slipped away. Turning to face the ceiling (don't touch him he's right beside you look out), away from the wall and Truth. Gone. The last bright, beautiful thing to feed from. Spent.
It was slipping away, he was slipping away. Face wet, stained. The demon J Crowley was not crying. He never cried. Of course. The cold hardness growing inside, taking over. And even now, the hunger within the demon J. Crowley stretching out, wanting something new.smooth, strong, young things.
Because of all we've seen, Because of all we've said, We are the.
.softly, quietly, gently even. But not fearfully- no fear now. No room for fear in a head full of terror. That's the trick, yeah, yeah, and yeah. Fill the cup till it runneth over. Softly, quietly, gently even step one two three, danse macabre all up the stairway to hell.
Don't spill.
Don't even breathe.
The angel Aziraphale walked step-by-step-by-step, eyes of glass and heart of pulp. Glistening trail behind him, feelings gutted and stretched out in a trail to help him find his way home.
I left my heeeaaarrrt.in your mouth. Your pretty, sharp mouth. Doo-dum-doo.
Steel grip on the bucket, don't drop the bucket, hold on to the bucket. The bucket is your friend. And the demon J. Crowley slept on.
Step-by-step-by-wakeuppleaseohpleasewakeupandkillmekillmenow-step. It's coming, it's building, it's peaking to the note, the highest note. We're there, baby. And it's you and it's me at the end of the world and we're laughing. We could laugh at them and sink into the sand, I love the shape of your mouth when you smile it's so smooth smile for me now. Once more. Just the once.
.gentle twitch. Unconscious. Lazy spread of muscles. Sharp white teeth, just a glint, a hint of Beauty.
Beauty.
All around me are familiar faces Worn out places, worn out faces Bright and early for their daily races Going nowhere, going nowhere
There was no screaming. There ought have been, but no.a sick, heavy silence that throbbed and rubbed at the angel Aziraphale. But there was blood soaking white sheets whiter skin, gore on snow. And there was pain.
And their tears are filling up their glasses No expression, no expression Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow No tommorow, no tommorow.
There was pain. Such pain. A clean, sharp ache that spread, a red flower of agony beginning in the chest and blossoming out to all around to every nerve. Baptism of fire. A bright world, with edges of deepest darkness. It was coming. It was here.
And I find it kind of funny I find it kind of sad The dreams in which I'm dying Are the best I've ever had.
The demon J. Crowley opened yellow lamp lit eyes, staring for hours and days and eternity at an angel. His own angel. It stood, a tiny sun to the demon J. Crowley's dying star. He saw sadness there, and fear, and need, all together. A shape as through a glass darkly stretched out the endless lands between them- his hand no more, merely a memory. The demon J. Crowley reached to touch, and felt the calm spread through him calm calm so calm and so beautiful. The need to tell thrashed within him -it's okay, it's okay, everything's okay- against lips that were rivers of darkness.
And the angel Aziraphale watched his lover die. Black/red blood diluted with the blessed water, pooling, spilling, so much of it. So much blood. The demon J. Crowley was awake, was conscious (he can FEEL it, he can FEEL IT) and watching. Don't look at the eyes. Don't see the hate. Don't feel the Fear. Blue eyes dragged up by hooks of despair. Yellow eyes scorched to black already there. And in there-
So much. So many years. It's okay, I'm so sorry, it's okay, I'm so sorry, I understand, I should be punished, it's not vengeance. It's not vengeance. The black eyes insist. The blue eyes hope.
("What if you did the wrong thing, and I did a right one?")
Click.
Clarity.
The lesson. It was all in the lesson. No forgiveness without understanding. No cleansing without pain.
No forgiveness without sin.
.the dark light of the demon J. Crowley flickered, and faded. Don't go without.it's not fair. To where, doesn't matter. Don't know, don't care. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay.
The angel Aziraphale watched the place for a time, numb. Thoughts still as winter and deep, deeper than sadness and deeper than pain.
Then he got a mop, and some towels, and cleaned up the blood and holy water. He washed and dried his hands, and made himself a cup of tea. One milk. No sugar. The angel Aziraphale cried for a little bit then, just quietly. Then he splashed some water on his face, and went downstairs to open the shop, while the sun rose over cold, empty streets.
Because of all we've seen, Because of all we've said, We are the dead. We are the dead. We are the dead.