There is a sword, and there is a pen,
And the ink cuts deeper then steel
Can't we just make a deal?

The cracks in your armor are starting to show
Soon the winter winds will blow
Through your home and through my room in your home

Your knowledge of ivory is increasing, but it's still something foreign in your hands,

Chord  progressions take time,
Lost in concentration, with Half of your morning face, you look so ******* fine,

Pardon my French, but were both a couple of micks, a little Jesus juice gets you a little loose, and perhaps I was drowning you in my ink

Boyancy becomes logged and begins to sink, inside your head, where you thought something seemed dead,

But now you press those ivory keys like its your job, as you sit upon pillows and not your knees this time,
But god ******, you look so ******* fine

Practice makes perfect, and perfect makes time for practice,
I wish I could act upon,
This feeling

And you press those keys like some sort of ******* saint ,
I  remember what we were and now what we ain't, hope you kept my note, I don't think I should show you my thoughts anymore