He’s an idiot genius.
He’s a tortured heart.
He’s a one piece puzzle
That somehow falls apart.

He’s spinning vinyl’s brainchild.
He’s so goddamn smart.
He’s a two piece puzzle
That no one ever starts.

His life is these pieces, hers is all the art.
Fill in all of these pieces.
Every morning, end of every night,
Fill up cups, glasses, creases.
A flight or a day away.

He says life is wandering,
He says it will be great.
He’s a dusty puzzle
That tries not to complain.

He’s a nightmare’s nightmare.
He is just a dream.
He’s a scattered puzzle
That no one’s ever seen.

He’s not make believe.
Leaves under the blood red moon.
Into these pieces leaks, you.

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