Cold heart black of skin

I'm cold of heart, black of skin. Rich as fuck and blind of birth
I am a traveller amongst the age a feature of the statues here on earth
Bald on the hairless inside of my heart, fresh as a tulip that keeps on dying
Another soul seeking retribution,  like a gunman, who killed , while lack of his soul, is crying.

Oh Trixie Annabelle I regret the hurt I caused the bleeding of the nose
The strike against your blushing cheek that made me questions obsoletes the cause
I'm in turmoil here because I made a mistake I slapped you hard I slapped you good
I understand the consequences I comprehend the bad from from the hood

So I lounge on the sofa with cramped up fingers that throb without the application of ice
The knuckles twisted inwards with the imprint of your face I suffice
And I feel a little guilt but not as much as you would expect
It's not the first time I've done this your honour, I remain the chief suspect.

Of a childhood so entwined , in a ball of disillusionment
Buried in a bridges foundation drowned in solid cement
Sofa
Lounge
Guilt
Your honour
Heart
Black
Skin
Full stop I need a drink
And another cigarette
A perfect sunrise equals a perfect sunset
I'm cold of heart
You make me real
I  tried so hard I Really did
Yet the end is near and I'm all consumed
In the web of life, in its cause, of doom.