I don't know you
   But I cried at your funeral

I want to stay up all night
we'll watch the radio
and hear the things that never see the light

We all fight to be heard
with our volume turned into brandished swords
silver blades made of words and vibration
our murdered time dragged around the court
of our conversations
before being stuffed into our personal coffers
as other people try to buy more time
it's easier to be reborn when you are dying
its easier to leave when you know it will all
be taken away

The rain falls
Pulling petals
From the roses
In a steady stream
Of tears  

Shielding them
From the dying
Of autumn
In a merciful
Early death  

Granting them
Their eternal
Beauty before
The death of Winter
Takes hold  

So that the
Bush may again
Hold the beauty
And mortality
Of Love.