What Happens Happens

Sitting in the shade,
Mead and olive-crowned pate.
Immortality.
Getting late...

Theme eats away
As I read from Blake,
And you asked if I believed
We were victims of fate.

Well, I once saw a magician
Breathe fire, and envisioned
That love was a mirror
With distorted reflection.

So, to answer your question,
We're not predestined,
We're just lucky bastards
In unknown oblivion.

What happens happens
And what's done is done,
What's lost is lost
And life lives on.

As we stellify our hearts
And worship our art,
And fail to realize
Our love is a farce.

One day we'll look back
On our follies and laugh,
And this union will seem
An obvious lapse.

We'll vaguely pretend
Things don't have to end,
And I'll smile and nod
Like I understand.

While you speak in tongues,
And I pluck false wisdoms
From the bellfry of being
And the shrine of Buddah.

What happens happens
And what's done is done,
What's lost is lost
And life lives on.

Then to London we go
In search of truths unknown—
Our Season in Hell
Like Verlaine and Rimbaud.

And when the weather changes,
We'll go our own ways, and
Act like strangers
When we pass the next day.

And you'll fulfill your dreams
Of washing machines,
So you can purify
Your dirty laundry.

And I'll make amends,
Then lose myself again
The moment I mistake
My enemies for friends.

What happens happens
And what's done is done,
What's lost is lost
And life lives on.

And I'll rewrite Sejanus
In modernized English,
And cast Shakespeare as the lead
To get booed off the stages.

And you'll claim to be holy
Like divine guacamole
And say I don't get
The words you say fully.

Maybe I'm damned,
Or maybe you stand
Waving God like a flag
On stolen lands.

Where once we drew blood
To sanctify our love
Under the guise of youth
And madcap freedom.

What happens happens
And what's done is done,
What's lost is lost
And life lives on.

What happens happens
And what's done is done,
What's lost is lost
And what's here is gone.