It's Lisa, or Laura, I know not her real name
Which is probably pretty or something the same
With her I spoke under, and lived under fed
Without her I hang now, without her instead
We die many times, and each new infancy
Is a surprise ; that I have the tendencey
To look over when it suits me, and decry when not
When I am sailing, or when things go well
Where this vision of death comes, she always leaves
And I bury my head in my billowy sleeves
To marvel at how I must face my own fate
Or deny it, more likely, until it's too late
When I could have kept on at her, with her, inside of her
Instead of letting her weakness successfully hide her
Her weakness and mine, the death of us both
I was more violent, and she was more loath
To see in me a promise of what I could give
And I to see in her a reason to live
Which was past just a symbol of woman and luck
That I would never be lacking for something to fuck
And one to fuck over when things would decide
That it was once again time to go for a ride
We felt we must seize the weather, and never the whim
To be led by the other and not the whithin