Making Maps

My cousin died in the morning

He didn't even feel the sun

I can't sit here bawling

Saying I wish I'd never been born

Getting through to you,

Has been getting shot of me

So let your hair hang low

Tell me how I'm living slow

The devil would sooner live in me

Than settle for a life in you

In You

I've been a king of the wickedest dreams

I've been aching and sore

I've been making a map of your longing to hold on

I've been lost for so long

Is there a knife in your locket

Or is meant to thrill

Where people go out walking

You aimed to shoot and kill

So should I paint a shaky sea

Or drown in basic metaphor

Liken you to a port

Where I harbour the darkest thoughts

When you throw me to the rocks

The gulls will feast upon my guts

I'm no hipster shilling snake oil

I've no pictures in the sun

But I'll give you me amongst my dreams

Amongst all the things i'll leave

I'll leave

I've been a scene in a great tragedy

Half buried in song

I've been making a map of your longing to hold on

I can only get it wrong

A strong north western breeze

Carves a sinking hole in me

Under the weight of snow

Barns collapse and hollows fill

In my dreams I'm below

In my dreams I'm below

7.