He was buried in a potter’s field
where once I was the lover of his dreams
when silence could be appealed
and faith was strong in his many schemes.
The nights were raw and dirty fun
so I ignored the warnings to run
as hands fired my flesh tender white
and he moulded me to his appetite.
But I awoke
and found my mould
as youth lost its blindfold
to leave you broke.
So stay buried in a potter’s field
and let my love rest healed.
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