66
Jan Juránek
Sixty-six are times you walked away
Sixty-six I made my own body bleed
Sixty-six is the number of promises
I kept hidden in the old crimsen red box
& sixty-six are the times I wish I didn't exist
For me or you or the blue and the green
Sixty-six is the number to which I surrender
Walking in sixty-six twisted circles
The route to ultimate destruction
The day of reckoning will come
Of that I'm sure
And sixty-six angels will carry me
To sixty-six heavens far above
I will miss this
The sixty-six morning kisses
On the cheek to my mother
I will rise and leave it all behind
Sixty-six is the number you are sick of by now
Yet still intently you listen and peek
As if I had something else to offer
Than my raw soul in fabricated yellow packaging