It's a sheepy love,
making me go 'baa',
as I look on you in awe.
The way you talk,
I can't help but flock to ya..

Your voice is more than a bleat,
it makes me feel complete,
knowing you and I are real.
They can call us sheeple,
but I never cared about them,
so let's meet at the steeple.

It's mad to me to think I
ever doubted or distrusted you.
I must have been like a lost lamb
or a stray sheep searching
when all I ever really wanted
was just to have you, oh ewe.

But what can I say, really,
sheep aren't smarties,
but we make good sweaters,
so won't you hold me close,
like I was your pillow?

Let's have a sheepy love,
the sweetest love of them all.

I long for those long gone times,
when skies were blue,
and you were my truth,
among the lies of love lost.

The stars spoke our names,
reflections like pinpricks on the skyline.
so far away, yet somehow, in our reach.
Yet, was I just grasping at straws,
when I should have been grasping for you?

Caught up in myself was I,
like a mirror reflected to me,
never stopping to see your
hand in hand with mine.

Now this hand hangs down,
my head follows the compass,
and I am left to experience
what is it like for a star to die.

Alexandria, my darling,
won't you be my sunshine starling?
Won't you dance with me in the light,
and kiss me sweetly in the night?

Tell me you'll be my sweetest love,
and send my heart up stars above.
I know it's soon, and we are young,
and that it might not be true love.

But what I feel, I know is real,
and no more can this I conceal.
I care for you, I long for you,
my spirits soar when you pass through.

I say dumb things to see you smile,
I watch in awe as you ooze style.
Your fae charms have bewitched me so,
oh, how I wish, you'd be my beau.

You can call me Elsa like I'm Frozen
cause you know I never let it go,
and I won't ever let you go,
whether or not you say no.

You know I hold more grudges
than white racist judges,
I'll be your biggest regret yet,
so much more than a threat.

And it's not like I want you,
I just don't want anyone to want you,
like a toy that I don't wanna share,
then I throw away elsewhere.

I hope you know you can't ignore me,
I want my face to be in your dream or
rather a nightmare so I can hear you scream.
By the time I'm done, you won't forget me.

And like a bad addiction, you won't quit,
and each day another step down the pit.
And don't deny, cause you know it's true,
you like the pain and the daily abuse.

You and me, we're meant to be,
for better or worse, well, better for me,
and worse for you, if we're being real,
like the fisher who hooks the reel.

Like a pet, you'll be under my thumb,
while everyone else plays dumb.
There's no escape or no release,
just you begging at my feet.

Drops of waters dripping down the drain,
leaky faucet keeps ringing in my brain.
Moldy walls, and moldy halls, a mirror
of the mold festering in my soul.

Laying down on this old, musty couch,
staring at a screen reflecting my expression.
I sip from this can, and sit and wonder,
when this low life lost its luster.

Like a rusty old bicycle missing a wheel,
I just keep riding in circles with no direction,
a plague of apathy uncured by introspection.
The hardest thing is just giving a ****.

The telephone rings and rings and rings,
but I keep on thinking and thinking and thinking,
and drinking and drinking and drinking.
I sit, I think, I wonder, and I drink.

Born of the salty, watery brine,
born of the rising, rapid tide,
she of the romantic river Rhine,
she, the loving ocean's bride.

Alexandria, Queen of the Sea,
her hair like waves upon the coast,
her eyes, cerulean, looking at me.
her smile, inviting me from my post.

Her attire, alluring and appealing,
perfectly provides a picture picturesque,
of the sunlight striking the ocean ceiling.
My head spinning, my thoughts yet coalesce.

I am striding toward that distant shore,
eager to meet my aquatic queen,
to find and hold the dewy hand of lore,
that figure of myth, my dear undine.

Soon I spot the sign of my sweet
her soulful voice singing that sonorous song.
At my arrival, she turns her head to greet,
and I, in turn, gladly return the greeting along.

Her briney hand then reaches for mine,
and I hold it out past the quiet water,
fingers stretching past the gentle coastline.
My hand is ripped down to slaughter.

I walked through the forest of lies,
on my own, barefoot, and bare-skin,
like I didn't know what was where and when.
Picking up things I didn't understand,
like truffles of gold or relics in the sands.
I threw them away, I tossed them aside,
like they didn't belong to me beside.

Searching for a place that I could stand,
I walked for an age through every land,
through a river of deceit, and a wood of worry,
trying to find something that had been buried,
deep inside the treasure map of me,
but no matter I looked, I couldn't find the key.

So I packed up my things and I walked on,
like a wayward vagabond you made gone.
With each passing turn and changing season,
my back would ache and my stomach would shake,
so I knew the clock was getting ready to strike,
and I didn't need to be told to take a hike.

Something about free feels so alluring,
having no cares sounds so tempting,
but when you don't have a thing to stand for,
you find yourself searching evermore.