I could play word games And sell you on such things As dreams of sky sailing To look you in the eyes If names mean anything Then you can call me doctor As I treat the wounded salvation Sometimes I play these games Counting up the battles To add up the odds and ends Of how these things occur Strange situations and well placed cynicism Tonight I'm a ringer Playing the roll of gun slinger Sometimes I think that Wilde was right Every man does kill the thing he loves So tonight I'm gunning down wishful thinking Because we all know nothing makes my heart beat faster Than running straight after, a brush with disaster Wanting most what I can not have Mainly because I can not have it There is something to the thrill of the chase The way the blood runs quick in a life or death race I know better than reaching across oceans Yet something in me aches for adventure To save the poet's soul from dying I must kill my muse again and again and again The game must end, it must end, end, and end again, and again I've always had a thing For dangerous damsels Dark haired stunners With heart break severe Now I fight with the mirror, Screaming insults at myself For failed attempts at thinking That age lent wisdom