The Icognito Writer

Revisit: Pretty Little Things

Your pretty little wings

Yeah, those things on your back

Those pretty little things

Are covered in black

And your pretty little eyes

Well, they used to be blue

But even with the absence of light

They’re my favourite thing about you

Your pretty little smile

Now crooked on your face

That pretty little smile

Has forgot its resting place


Your pretty little wings

Took you up to the sky

Those pretty little things

Forgot what they left behind

Your pretty little corpse

Lying here on my floor

You left it without remorse

What did you leave it for?

Your pretty little legs

All nice and smooth

May they never leave I beg

May they always soothe


Your pretty little wings

Caused you to up and go

Those pretty little things

Fly to places I don’t know

And your pretty little face

Well, it’s all I can touch

Right now in this place

Though it isn’t much

Your pretty little hair

Was gold now its black

It flew everywhere

But now it’s on your back


And so I stay here

A king without its crown

A sorry state; a pitiful affair

I’m feeling down

My queen has gone

She has died and she has left

When it is dawn

I’ll have no-one left

But your pretty little wings

They are here by my side

Those pretty little things

Will watch me as the days go by


So my pretty little angel

What do you have to say

You who refused to be labelled

As the one who flew away
And so I’ll pass my days here

Watching as the sun flies by

Sitting in the cold autumn air

In the dark of the night

Your pretty little wings

Oh, how happy I’ll be

If those pretty little things

Could bring you back to me



The Icognito Writer

I am not who I say I am but who my writing says I am; my characters define me. Like puppets in a play, they tell you who pulls the strings. I'm not who I say I am; I'm who you think I am.

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