Who's to say,
That we won't greet again?
Posing particular poses,
And delicately deciding
What sights to see.
In a self-defeating haze;
In a fog of trepidation.
Ignoring a past graze.
Of a past lover;
Of those who have passed over.

Who's to say,
That it won't be the same?
In the endless bloodsport,
When you've had your mouthful.
And swallow.
The pang is still there,
When you return to feed,
Necessity or need?
You and they know what you want.
So you do everything.
What you can, and can't.

Who's to say,
That when we meet again,
I'll close the curtains.
Turn off the lights,
And wait for the next time.
When it won't be the same.
When it won't be for the rush.
When it won't be for the thrill of the game.
As I take the last drag,
And know who's to blame.

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