words by dominic riccitello

i stand in virtue of my truth
observing emotions i held for you
we black to our past
wading in the memories i had
avant-garde, but every guard
i hear the frogs in the meadows
calling for a winter freeze
building walls instead of trees
we wake in our spring to fake ourselves
destroying an essence we had
burning the candles for our false hope
whiskey and rocks never tasted less than fuel
we dance on clouds
a floating atmosphere 
full of deceit, lies and helpless beings
i long for my youth 
a naive boy standing in his living room
before a mirror told him lies
his mind played tricks
men made fists
drinks tasted like bliss
and the lips of his muse
made him write this