‘Claiming Don Quixote’s Spot for My Own’

Of what's become of the lies I used to burn gone the signs our love, now they vagrantly roam in hordes on the back of Mustangs, unsaddled (both kickers and runners when told or even asked to stay) A million you and me(s) lost their days to the voice within telling me to spring from a trap you never set

I should have given you more of a break but you know how a cowards heart can be when everything's not perfect: we over act bravery (I could make you happy but for safety's sake I hope you are already) unwilling enemies are found when sought so I'm substituting 'musts' with 'alternatives', a call to arms against something not even there

Pain's more precious than pleasure when it's for the sacrifice of protecting, for keeping your 'pure heart' safe (there I go again seeing different monstrous forms of me in you) a man making a damned hero of himself til the end so begins my bruised ego, self-mutilation, vandals and sin......its fine as long as I'm not fighting you instead