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Hungry Ghost

by hjeartzz

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1.
When I die, I'm trading these bones for the heart of each girl I have known, and each heart will be fed to the ghost of the hopes we would sadly let go, when for fear I would sleep so as not to crawl through the heart-ache, the woes, the alcohol, and dream but a dream so small: that I might be nothing at all.
2.
Unnecessarily angry and bitter words - words which took no responsibility for the dissolution of the relationship in which I was a part of. Instead, I pointed the finger in the most inappropriate manner. I feel embarrassed and ashamed for such blatantly sexist language. Although I knew better, I deliberately tried to demean and degrade a person who, months earlier, I had felt a great fondness for. I was hurt and I behaved in a cowardly manner. The past is past, and I cannot undo what has been done, but I am sorry for any upset I caused. I should have been stronger, more considerate, and less of an asshole. I was wrong.
3.
It isn't hard when you come off easy, desperate and so God-damned needy, when I could be just any body for all you could care. But you're the heir to every bad idea in every song, down to the dregs of this beer. It's laissez-faire with a hint of despair and two heads for the noose. So do what you do with that kick-about-heart, because we both know we're being used. As you fall from your dress into the arms of regret, you act all coy, when every word presents a real threat. Feeling self-conscious and barely erect, but I lack the self-respect to let this rest. Besides, it's only sex. So keep doing as you do, because I might be confused, but at least I know I'm being used. Easy come. Easy gone. Fuck a girl then write a song. If it feels like something's wrong, well, who wronged whom? Because we have nothing and nothing to lose, but that's something we can nurse, besides these wounds. Maybe it's true, we're all a little bruised. But what would I know?
4.
I'll pour one more and then I'm through, or I'll be heaving at the floor before it's quarter-to-two. But what's one more if I can stomach four? This sorry show is getting so old, being so alone with these old shoes that I could never fill -- it's true. Barely able to move in an empty room for all of these reminders of you. And I wonder how you've been, even though I'll never see you again. I leave my bedroom door open, sat on the barren wooden floor looking for something to do, and feel so unsure of what I'd do before. Count the cracks up on the ceiling, believing that there could be something more if I'd squeeze through the plasterboard -- I must be bored. But there are worse things on which I depend than the thought-dreams up inside my head. Still, I wonder how you've been, about your new friends, if they make you laugh like I did, if you're happy that you finally fit in, and if you ever think of me, just for a second. (I know it's sad, but it's true.)
5.
There's a slight on the day to the sound of your name, but they don't have a clue. As you buckle and break and try hard not betray that it never was you. So you smile, show your teeth with the greatest of ease, though it brings no relief from the weight of the truth: that the fruits of all you ever do are rotten through and through. Now your failures become your successes in turn, 'cause you've nothing to lose when you withstand the confusion pressing down on your lungs -- well, what else can you do? And you fear getting lost in the unending thought that you've already lost a little part of what's you, when it all falls apart from overuse and is stuck back in part with glue. So, when your heart turns blue, all raw and undercooked -- hemmed-in by brittle bones and caulked in body fluids; when your guilt blooms from the bud of a bruise: everyone can see through you and that knowing look of being for whatever you can use. See, all that was good has been chewed-up and ruined by the sinews of virtue you hold everyone else to.
6.
I don't mind, no, talking to myself sometimes -- it's fine, but half the time, it's enough to make a stronger man cry. And friends, they'll say "Well, hey! It doesn't have to be this way." I'm sure they're right, but in my life it's been easier to walk away than stay and take the blame for whatever mistakes were made. Because I can always drink until I drown, fall hard to the ground. Sure, it's not much of a life, but if it works for me, it works. So, call me insecure (well, sure!), or maybe you think I'm self-assured. Another cocky prick that has to crawl beneath the weight of all his shit. And, hey! You're probably right. We can all act like a dick sometimes. Still, I admit this in the hope that one day I might get things right. I mean, why lie? And to myself this time? Well, at what price? You see, there's so little of me left now to claim as my own, I'm thinking that this body must be a home away from home.

about

All songs written and recorded by T Morgan.

Additional vocals on 'Briony / Bryony' and 'Friends that Should and Shouldn't Be': Shaun Francis.
Additional vocals on 'Flowering Judas': L Cooper.

Nicola Tesla's 'Thought Camera' drawn by T Hyman.

credits

released October 18, 2014

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about

hjeartzz UK

Bedroom superstars from a pop-geek universe, mixing schoolboy earnestness with bratty, teenage rock 'n' roll.



Booking: hjearts@gmail.com

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