HMH - HOME MADE HELL: A SONG(or poem orwhatever)

VERSE 1

dear dark creature of my soul, would we have ever worked? met you on the web, how would this work? how should I be after we failed totally, inconceivably? I looked in the mirror and saw myself in your eyes, you the goddess of me. singer and poet, sing to me, bear your soul to me. why did I fall utterly in love with you? three weeks like none before, now October 17, a line is crossed. knife in my hand, this's not me acting. blood pools, every 3rd week of the month, a new cut. soon the circle will be complete, pentagram carved on my leg.

CHORUS

hmh home made hell, got you in my head, in my heart, carved on my leg. what you did to me was beyond words, beyond reason. tell me, my dear one, did you ever feel the same? do you still? was I your biggest ever mistake? hmh home made hell, got you in my head, in my heart, carved on my leg. what you did to me was beyond words, beyond reason...

VERSE 2

a fine tracery of scars on my leg, one day to be completed. my darkest moments, a release of pain onto my flesh for the rest of my life. not sorry I did it, no regrets. despair came today, an old friend. keeps coming back to the american girl and the lesson I learned, cuts from her femme fatal. saw her face online today, my emotions coming alive to what was nearly once, now lost. told her my views, how we were almost together. now she is bored in her southern english town, will she answer? must be careful, not to be broken, finish my pentagram. there's more at stake here than love don’t you see? my Goddess is silent, my clouds cloudy. hope is the idealism of fools and drunkards, what about me?

REPEAT CHORUS TWICE AND FADE OUT

this is about a gal who broke my heart in 2004. i cant put her name for legal reasons. she hurt me like no other but i forgive her... my soulmate...

THUNDERCHIEF

How can a machine made by man

Have so much beauty and history?

The Thunderchief can,

From the start as a

Nuclear delivery platform

To its final days in

The hell that was Vietnam

This was the Goliath’s chariot.

Sent to fight over a land

Over 12,000 miles away

Above rice paddies and forest.

This was a pilot’s nightmare

Dodging Migs and missiles.

Yes it was the summer of ’69

Far from home and Uncle Sam.

We were the pilots of long ago.

With six tons of bombs,

Two missiles and a cannon

We went to war fighting for

The good ol’ US of A.

The Migs got my wingman

But I got the Mig.

Did I win? I did then

But Uncle Sam lost his war.

We lost 300 of our

Beloved jets but to America

That is nothing, is it?

We build more and more

And send them off to war.

Around and around we go

More jets and more war

Again and again and again.

But now all is quiet

The Thunderchiefs are silent

All waiting to be scrapped

Turned into knives and forks.

This is the glorious fate

For all old warplanes

Especially the old Thunder jets.

At last peace rules over Vietnam.

the F-105...

TRACERY OF SCARS

A fine tracery of scars on my leg,

almost a pentagram,

one day to be completed.

My darkest moments, a release of pain

onto my flesh for the rest of my life.

Not sorry I did it, no regrets.

Despair came to me today, an old friend.

Not wanted at the shop due to me being intense,

too different. Just me. No place to go but the dole.

Best writer around here, second to none,

look at my work and see for yourself.

Yet hope is there. Had my vampire story accepted,

eating a Soviet tank regiment bloodlust style.

Yet my pain is real.

Met a girl, I do like her. Alison is her name

but is it love? Only 21, she is mine alright, totally.

She can be my Goth girl. Love grow?

Keeps coming back to the American girl

and the lesson I learned, cuts from her femme fatale.

Saw her face online today, my emotions

coming alive to what was nearly once, lost now.

Told her my views, how we were almost together,

so secure. Now she is bored in her southern English town.

Will she answer? Must be careful, not to be broken,

finish my pentagram. There is more at stake

here than love don’t you see? My Goddess

is silent, my clouds cloudy. Hope is the idealism

of fools and of drunkards, what about me?

I get a girl anyhow so loneliness will be gone.

Al or Hol hold the answers…

more angst ridden hell lol

KAHLIA’S MISSION

All white moonshine heroine spectral gaze

of needle point stars lighting your way to holy city.

Streamlined like a wraith, as silent as the earth,

aviation fuel blood in your veins.

Calm pilot at your controls, autopilot plotting

your doomsday course to a target over the horizon.

One small bomb recessed under your white belly,

large destructive power for one million dead.

Back to their base gasses, atomised.

Not long now, digital clock ticks away the start

of Kahlia Akasha’s nuclear bomb

run on an innocent Iranian city.

What price World War 3?

No innocents on a planet of guilty people.

nuclear strike fighter...