And even now when I'm at my best
with everyone content with my happiness
I know that I've been wrong before
but only half a dozen times or more

I'm scared
I've thrown it all away
Laughable artistic soul for slow decay
Going with you to bands I used to love and seeing them play boring songs


I guess I'm a little unsure
of places where I've never gone before
cause it's too late to hide now
the disgusting parts of me you've seen

intentional or inadvertantly

I bet people can't wait to read my memoirs

Who wants have to sexfight? For sure thing!

TW's Top Fag!

Sometimes it takes two
ingested between the disapproving masses
(on their way to stops you've never wanted to learn about)
to make you stop being afraid of what is natural
and take pride in looking at some and saying
'That was me then'
and others to think
'That could be me next'
and realise that you are nothing special,
that you are not exempt
from monotony and doldrums and a life less than ordinary
but blessed with occasional flashes of brilliance
which appear mediocre to everyone else

And right now you must switch because she is waiting at Shijo.

I bet people can't wait to read my memoirs

Moribund fireball filaments flickering
Your blazing assymetry
The foo fighter eyes
That now fix on me,
Flit
On the bruise purple skies
Delivering death
While refusing to die

Swarming my crown
Are your slight, static fingers
Staked on my spine
The diaphanous blue fire lingers
From the friction of my heavy soul
And, yours; free
Even still,
Your gravity stays steeped in me

Sojourner of sublunar starshine
You startling gem
Your presence, a hole
On the horizon's hem
A spectre of light,
A specular vision of life,
Which threatens to syphon my soul
Through a vaccum of days
As my blood is diffused with your venomous rays
A hollowed-out hull of all hope on the sky
Delivering death
While refusing to die

Texas is the reason that the president's dead.

My latest song lyric...


TOOTHPASTE IN MY HAIR

There's milk on my new red boots
There's toothpaste in my hair
And I think my baby's gone for good
But oh to where, where, where ?

Oh, it feels lonely
When there's toothpaste in my hair
Yeah, so lonely
It's more than I can bear

There's Guinness on my grey tights
Kilkenny on my shirt
And I wish my baby'd stayed all night
Oh now I fell like dirt

Oh, it feels lonely
When there's toothpaste in my hair
Yeah, so lonely
It's more than I can bear

Me? The 13th Duke of Wybourne? Here? On teenagewildlife.com? At three o'clock in the morning? With my reputation? What were they thinking of?

Do you really own grey tights? Like.. Jareth grey tights?


Again, try and ignore the elipses. No such thing as tabs at TW.



My eyes are draped in a pale sheet of dust
.....as time is stopped for only me
.....No memory
..........has succumbed to peace,
.....but for this moment, when even the death
..........of silence is promised

Another yellowed thought cracks loose
.....and drifts into the mindless
.....Winter stream
..........For once, I'm not agrieved
.....I've not awoken to a forgotten dream
.....I've gone to sleep
..........and forgotten that I lived



Summer makes me drowsy.
Autumn makes me sing.
Winter's pretty lousy,
But I hate Spring.

Well, I'm a Bowie fan! Actually, I forgot to write a music for that one. Thanks for reminding me.

Me? The 13th Duke of Wybourne? Here? On teenagewildlife.com? At three o'clock in the morning? With my reputation? What were they thinking of?

You might like this song lyric, by the way:


[...]

We will lie back
On a pillow of the whitest snow
And the silence we were promised
Will engulf us

Lay your head down
Keep your head down
While they’re firing low
You’re too young child
You’re too young child

We will wake up
From the dreams that bury us
We will tunnel our way out
By moonlight

[...]


(from Snow Borne Sorrow)

Me? The 13th Duke of Wybourne? Here? On teenagewildlife.com? At three o'clock in the morning? With my reputation? What were they thinking of?

Why yes, you're right. I do like those lyrics.

I must admit, I'm absolutely not familiar with David Sylvian's work.

P.S. I demand that you post a grey tights photo. Tout suite.

Summer makes me drowsy.
Autumn makes me sing.
Winter's pretty lousy,
But I hate Spring.

Considering that the only fans of Sylvian around here are Monkeyboy, Claude and me, that's probably for the best.

Regarding the grey tights, well, I must confess that they're fictional, but I do own a pair of short black tights (same thing that cyclists wear). However, I'm not wearing them at my office right now...

Me? The 13th Duke of Wybourne? Here? On teenagewildlife.com? At three o'clock in the morning? With my reputation? What were they thinking of?