THE MUSE DIES WITH MUSEUM DEBTS

Made to measure Highland hills, old men’s teeth, an unrepentant flag of grief it doesn’t matter where I’ve gone, who I’ve met, it never lets me go it never leaves me go consider the lilies in her bed consider the shadows in my head consider the flags we’ve had to burn consider the nights I’ve had to turn away from it all I turned away from it all time and bone are still made to measure forgive me, forgive me not’s it’s all instant pleasure so we raised the hill at Heptonstall the three sisters, I’ve read them all none knew where the skull would fall they all wrote alone they all lived and died at home so I praised the God of transience I wore his cloak, mocked elegance betrayal was my last defence against a dark inheritance of passing, surpassing, trashing, ignorant pretentious cash-ins cynicism, the depressive prison where which to wear is the big decision I’m tired of it all I want something simple, something more time and bone are still made to measure forgive me, forgive me not’s it’s all instant pleasure the muse dies with museum debts the muse dies with museum debts they raised the price without regrets but histories beauty was a whore, histories beauty was a whore a whore whore 1,2,3,4 time and bone are still made to measure forgive me, forgive me not's it’s all instant pleasure