murder ballads

Things happen. Conflicts arise, and inevitably go too far. Blood is so often available to pool and flow. I am not too proud to admit I was wrong. It was most likely the mistakes that took us, me thinking you were someone you weren't, you thinking I was someone worth knowing at all. The beginnings are still up for debate, but the ending is clear and complete. It starts like a love song, it ends as a dirge.

There is a misery kept as metronome, habits so deep that they seem like the natural world to those afflicted. Charity and enmity, jealousy and violence. There are so many failures that lead up to these finalities. So many violations that end up costing more than their sum. The punctuation of a bullet or a blade, all from these false assumptions about possession and belonging. The song was written in bone and moonlight. The song flows like a river of sin.

There was another man, there was another woman. There was no-one and still you needed to leave. You lied one time too many, or you told me the truth at last. Time will work out my complaint, the lyrics looking for a line. Time will play out every misdeal, every malfeasance. I took offense, then I took all you had left. It is the way of the world. It is the love song that ends buried in the night.