The Hanged Man

Put your arms around my neck
just like a pathetic lace of death
displays like a tarot deck
I am the card of the hanged man
and here I stand
with a flame on my hand
do you understand?
If there is hope for me she is flirting with the breeze
on a peculiar choreography
with the dead arms of some old southern tree
silently, lips sealed against me silently, wanna walk with me?
And it makes you wanna know
if in all the stories the truth is really told
And it makes you wanna reborn
and like a snake crawl every warm season
Into a different form
When you can still kill me,