Could we create meaning from objects
Tumbling like feathers from the tops of buildings
Could we collect the silence and place it in our bodies
Subjective fingers bring you eager categories
While seekers of feeling harbor no jealousy

We are such impeccable dreamers
Featuring our fear and our disgust
As often as the lightness of our being
You are still too young to be faulted
For forgetting your promises
We aspire to rise as high
As our shadows remain grounded
We found the sun at last
Burning past the guardians of our irises
We are never hard at heart
Though our sensitive skin
May have toughened a bit
Since we incarnated in this
Dichotomous existence
We are sincere in our pursuit of feelings
We cheer for the joy of our relations
Young mothers sustain their children
On limitless supplies of oxygen and love
Apparently we are a pair of old tornadoes
Hugging these pressure currents closely
Our souls are always in motion
Constantly twirling, convulsing
And unfolding invisible codexes into reality
Spirals of sonic architecture
Functionally resonant with the subtle essence
Of our hearts' deepest longing

When your lover has abandoned you
There are infinite limitations
Towards making any headway against
The empty pages of your solitude and turmoil
They take for granted the lanterns
That you've rubbed and polished
With magnanimous piles of spit and silliness
Over a thousand lifetimes you've attempted
To mend your tired and divided mind
With the deepest respect
For the old magic and it's capacity
To transform being into beauty
And anger into humility
When otherwise we'd all be nothing more
Than a few unpolished pearls
Desperately cast before life's eroding shoreline
Still we were shunned for our silences
And warned not to run or there'd be violence
So we drifted into sinister desperation
And underlying our vacations
In the dirtiest of places
(imagine FL or Las Vegas)
Was the collective memory
Of a disheveled old kitchen
That felt like it was the safest place
That you had ever been to

Love is made of art and brokenness
Like a candle it illuminates the heart's darkness
We are bearing seeds of tiny metal particles
As if we were made from diamonds
And also some dusty old articles

We are often lonely and rather lustful of our neighbors
And so full of distrust that we sometimes envision
That perfection was indeed a poisonous arrow to begin with
And our sorrow is so desperate to be touched
That we are quite glad to confess our collective unrest
Both today and again tomorrow, if you'd really like us too

And tonight i will beg for you to bless me
And if we are alive I know that you'll caress me
You are wise yet also young and beautiful
With a sultry body and a voice that's in between **** and whiny
When your luscious mouth pouts its quite beyond the ordinary
And even if there are some other girls out there
That some people would say are rather more inviting

For though our love is but tiny specks of lightning
Its impossible to assume that we're making
A rather large show out of nothing
You see we are really melodramatically quite intact
Like abstract paintings positioned a little too precisely
Our trimmed and trembling figures
Have been financed by constant neglect more than adequately
So we attract the attention of only the most deplorable of agents
Yet thankfully due to our full and constant immersions in urgency
We are still flourishing in the graveyards and basements categories
And have you heard of the band, The Entitled Undead
I expect they may become a permanent collective in your head someday

Please correct me if I'm wrong
But I know I’ve heard you sing this song before
And I adore the morning's silent symphony
When hundreds of bees are as bright
As a canopy of sunflowers
Leaning into the trees like fallen buffalo
We dream of Navajo sunsets
And isolated islands embedded
In a sea of convulsive incoherence

I adore the morning's silent symphony
When hundreds of birds are as bright
As a canopy of sunflowers
Leaning into the trees like fallen buffalo
We dream of Navajo sunsets
And isolated islands of innocence
Embedded but not embodied in a sea of ignorance

Love is made of art and brokenness
Like a candle it illuminates the heart's darkness
We are bearing seeds of tiny metal particles
As if we are made out of diamonds
And perhaps a few dusty old napkins

Our blood is equipped with spit and spirit
And it flows right into our splintered hearts
We are already shifting stratospheres
For there was a lonely place here
Even before the earth appeared, quite naked
We infiltrated the epicenter of the universe
Just to hear her whisper in the dark

Blindness is a poisonous lover, readily shared among a certain type of men, who are only metaphorically lacking in vision.

She was ensconced in a sentence.