Tis midnight in New orleans

Still the streets dare not sleep.

From my window I can see young lovers holding hands.

I see a raven peerched upon my rail.

I wonder if she brings forth a message for me,

  no matter.

I am to fucked up to read.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror

  The past

It calls out to me.

This reflection is not me, rather the man i used to be.

There is blood in my tears, and salt in my wounds,

a voice urging me to acknowledge

my future past.

It is now two am in the French Quater

Rain prevents the dirt from turning to dust

As i run from myself, my future, and my past.

So here I stand at my lovers tomb,

To face the fears that I never knew.

On my knees in this place of grief,

My spirit rises, My soul flies free,

I confess my love for thee