The Man In Black.

A song I wrote about my best friend.

He sees the purple people swirling round his head,
He doesnt know what they want, what they did or what they said,
But he sees them and smiles at them so graciously,
And when he gazes through the looking glass they're there repeatedly.

He is sharp like a razor, standing like a train,
There goes the man in black,
He loses his smile but his loss is all in vain,
He is my man in black.

So now the purple people dancing in his mind,
Remind him of the sober instances he left behind,
The friends and the memories linger to and fro,
And now even through this pretence I refuse to let him go.

He is sharp like a razor, standing like a train,
There goes my man in black,
He loses his smile but his loss is all in vain,
He is my man in black.

He'll never know real certainty abandoned in this maze,
I'm reaching out to pull him in but he's been gone for days,
An abundant dose of Nightbane pumping through his ragged veins,
Constant illuminations running down in bloody shame.

He is sharp like a razor, standing like a train,
There goes my man in black,
He loses his smile but his loss is all in vain,
He is my man in black.
Where is the man in black.
Come back the man in black.
I loved my man in black.