Nedelja Vece...

Some nights I thirst for real blood
For real knives
For real cries
And then the flash of steel from real guns
In real life
Really fills my mind

And I really miss what really did exist
When I held your throat so tight
And I miss the bus as it swerved from us
Almost came crashing to its side

Sometimes the blood from real cuts
Feels real nice
When it's really mine
And if you want it to be real
Come over for one night
And we can really, really climb

And those blue bridge lights might really burn most bright
As we watch that dark lake rise
And if you really want to see what really matters most to me
Just take a real short drive

It's just a drive into the dark stretch
Long stretch of night
Will really stretch this shaking mind
And this room, unlit, unheated
And the ceiling striped
And the dark black blinds

I want to know this time if you�re really finally mine
I need to know that you're not lying so I want to see you tried
And I don't want to hear you say it shouldn�t really be this way
'Cause I like this way just fine

'Cause there�s nothing quite like the blinding light
That curtains cast aside
And no attempt is made to explain away
The things that really, really, really, really, really are behind

You can't hide
You can't hide
You can't hide

You can't hide
You can't hide
You can't hide


A black sheep boy revolves over canyons and waterfalls.
A black sheep boy dissolves in syringe or in shower stall.

He says
“There’s plenty of time to make you mine tonight,
there’s plenty of time to make you mine.”

He says
“There’s plenty of ways to know you’re not dying,
all right.
Hell, there’s plenty of light still left in your eyes.”

A black sheep boy grows horns,
breathing smoke through his microphone.
The airwaves stretch and they groan, bleeding, birthing his black diapason.

Says
“There’s plenty of things to wear when you come to me,
every color of sleeve to be rolled.
Millions of rolling eyes that still cling to me.
Every language of king is concerned.
So why
did you bawl
from the spell of some old holy song
some liar laughed as he composed,
some liar I loved to control?”

A black sheep boy dissolves
in hot cream, in sweet moans,
in each dead bed and empty home,
in each seething bacterium.

Killing softly and serial,
he lifts his head, handsome, horned, magisterial.
He's the smell of the moonlight wisteria.
He’s the thrill of the abecedarian.
See the muddy hoofprints where he carried you?

And there’s plenty of ways to claim his crimes tonight,
and there’s plenty of things to do on his dime.
And there’s plenty of ways to wear his hide tonight,
you’ve got yours, I’ve got mine.
You’ve got yours, I’ve got mine.
So why
did you flee?
Don’t you know you can’t leave his control
only call all his wild works your own?
So come back and we’ll take them all on.
So come back to your life on the lam.
So come back to your old black sheep man.

Says
“I'm waiting on hoof and on hand.
I'm waiting, all hated and damned.
I'm waiting, I snort and I stamp.
I'm waiting, you know that I am,
calmly waiting to make you my lamb”