Hatred breeds a storm,
Innocents caught in its rage,
Price paid by us all, heavy.

i always fancied myself a eurydice
the perfect victim in a perfect tragedy

but you have me feeling like orpheus
and i can't stop wondering if i would have looked back

and i know i would have if you asked me to

The crow said to his lover
"Do not be afraid,
The farmer only has one stone"

i believe,
even the stars
get tired.

when the night sky
had folded them away
back into the darkness

and the moon,
that lonesome thing,
has doused itself in shadows.

so will you too, my friend
shy away from the light
as if it would burn
if it reached you.

maybe you feel,
you just are not strong enough
to face the day.

that the midnight hour
is a broken thing

and oh, the silence
is deafening.

and you and i know, even the stars
are tired.

you mourn for them
as their light expires.

He gave me dead flowers
So I can smell them every day
The rotten petals falling
The color of decay

The washed out sunflower
The dehydrated leaves
The mold on the water
The color of debris

The richly red rose
Now drooping to the floor
The color of love
Existed no more

But still I saved the flowers
And smelled them every day
And watered them with tears
To let them grow again.

How do you
Forgive yourself
For all the
Things that
You never
Became?