This Time Imperfect 

One of two hidden tracks from AFI's "...But Home Is Nowhere," along with "The Spoken Word," which is a poem. Lyrics:

I cannot leave here, I cannot stay.
Forever haunted more than afraid.
Asphyxiate on words I would say.
I'm drawn to a blackened sky as I turn blue.

There are no flowers, no, not this time,
There'll be no angels gracing the lines,
Just these stark words I find.
I'd show a smile, but I'm too weak,
I'd share with you could I only speak,
Just how much this hurts me.

I cannot stay here, I cannot leave.
Just like all I loved, I'm make believe.
Imagined heart, I disappear, seems
No-one will appear here and make me real.

There are no flowers, no, not this time,
There'll be no angels gracing the lines,
Just these stark words I find.
I'd show a smile, but I'm too weak,
I'd share with you could I only speak,
Just how much this hurts me.

I'd tell you how it haunts me,
I'd tell you how it haunts me,
(Cuts through my day, and sinks into my dreams)
I'd tell you how it haunts me,
(Cuts through my day, and sinks into my dreams)
You don't care that it haunts me.

Oh,
There are no flowers, no, not this time,
There'll be no angels gracing the lines,
Just these stark words I find.
I'd show a smile, but I'm too weak,
I'd share with you could I only speak,
Just how much this hurts me,
Just how much this hurts me,
Just how much you...

AFI truly created a masterpiece in This Time Imperfect, as well as ...But Home is Nowhere and The Spoken Word.

This Time Imperfect by Lucio Soph July 15, 2010

This Time Imperfect 

1. Spoken prose of a hidden track by A.F.I, nown to creep out those who hear it.

See also: A.F.I, End of the World

"We held hands on the last night on earth. Our mouths filled with dust, we kissed in the fields and under trees, screaming like dogs, bleeding dark into the leaves. It was empty on the edge of town but we knew everyone floated along the bottom of the river.
So we walked through the waste where the road curved into the sea and the shattered seasons lay,and the bitter smell of burning was on you like a disease. In our cancer of passion you said, "Death is a midnight runner."

The sky had come crashing down like he news of an intimate suicide. We picked up the shards and formed them into shapes of stars that wore like an antique wedding dress. The echoes of the past broke the hearts of the unborn as the ferris wheel silently slowed to a stop. The few insects skittered away in hopes of a better pastime. I kissed you at the apex of the maelstrom and asked if you would accompany me in a quick fall, but you made me realize that my ticket wasn't good for two.

I rode alone. You said, "The cinders are falling like snow." There is poetry in despair, and we sang with unrivaled beauty, bitter elegies of savagery and eloquence. Of blue and grey. Strange, we ran down desperate streets and carved our names in the flesh of the city. The sun was stagnated somewhere beyond the rim of the horizon and the darkness is a mystery of curves and lines. Still, we lay under the emptiness and drifted slowly outward, and somewhere in the wilderness we found salvation scratched into the earth like a message."

This Time Imperfect by Goffboy's Dictionary on Life July 8, 2005