There is art
In your heart
Painting pictures
When I lay
My head down on your chest

There are songs in your eyes
Singing lullabies
When you hover
Pin me down
With your stare

There is a poem
On the tip
Of your tongue
I taste it
When I kiss you

You are tortured
Stereotyped
My jaded lover
I hear it
When you won't talk

Time with means
Real routes of simplicity
True to our senses, and the irony we glean
As shrewd as a call to it is, the role of indemnity

Places we hid, a source of bright news
Tastes of humility and dour forces, to live
With a grossing guess, the exaction of an excuse
Well to say, the known desire of almost, even and is

Torture to an average soul, waiting in another's light
Tradition and the marvel of success, a toil in cares
So far away from the risen more, right now, might
The collapse of heaven, in our hands be the gift that fairs?

Weak treasure, in the name of a doting virtue
Taken for a fool every time, if a lip has seen it all
In the grip of enemy's sublime, or the muster of curiosity
Known to be, the guidance of essences and riches, of the fall...

Worthy little key, saving me from a lucky reality
Paces of in and its atone, to live once more, is my stead
The count of urges and the jump to sight's welling in heat?
Of a new friendship of labor, if not the callous reproach, we saw us, in the cares we lead...

Today I've realized the weight of the word someday
It's empty
It has no hope
It's painful

It's the worse kind of torture
For an innocent soul.
It's not today
Tomorrow
Or the next day
It's someday