Park Bench Tales and other writings

Thoughts and writings reflecting the poet within and the activist


Leave a comment

Goth 3. Goth not Goth is Goth

Goth 3 Goth not Goth is Goth

We’ll get married when I’m buried

I’m the kinda thinker that’s down to earth

I’ll be wearing my pink platform boots

I’ve died my hair purple with a touch of green

Good job you canna see the roots

Lying in my coffin

I’ll be carried down the aisle

With four bridesmaids

Vampires in Carmilla style

Wearing gas masks and bullet belts

The priest is dressed up as a nurse

And I love his wicked smile

You’ll be watching from the graveyard

On you thousand dollar phone

Thinking of those nights we spent

And how you heard me moan

The universe is changing fast

Life is turning pastel pale

The world turned upside down today

But we already set our sail

You blew your chance on our second date

Turning up dressed all in noir

Only vampires can be late

Stop telling us that we not genuine

Say we should be dressed in black

Like some creatures of the night

Seeking those coming back

There’s a black cat with pale blue whiskers

Stalking along the beams

And I don’t care if there’s a tear

In my fishnet stocking seams

I’m staring at the ceiling

Where rainbow bats are flying

Perhaps they can understand

Why my wedding is about my dying

Like a Kerli barbie I’ll be rising

From the satin in the coffin lining

There’s a rapper once wanted me

But I left him whining

He go too fast

I liked it slow

I’m lifting the pine lid from the submissive gloom

Dressed in a green cobweb cape

My pink platform boots got to glitter

I’ve a moon tattoo on my nape

Got my hair done so straight

A bubblegum kind of thing

Cos it sparkles in light and dark

I’m writing a song I might sing

All about your meeting fate

With my maidens we perform nocturnal rites

Under floodlights

Of course

For the voyeur’s eyes they are delights

Stuck out like lollipop sticks

Exposing all those hidden sights

The flesh that lies beneath the tights

Which men salivate upon

Behind closed doors

I got them dots put on my forehead

I am a child of the moon

There’s a hidden sunflower tattoo

That you might see quite soon

I got love but I also got respect

There’s a side of life I know I can’t neglect

We standing here in unity

While you bound by chains of conformity

Me I’m released by the shackles

That I placed upon myself

While you stay pilloried in stocks

Strangled by your wealth

Copyright: David Hopcroft November 2022

Design a site like this with WordPress.com
Get started