In every stillness lies a whisper.
Gyrating bodies smoulder quicker
than the wick that sickly flickers
from the wind that will not kiss her.

In every kiss there is a silence,
ruled over by tapping tyrants
that exist within the quiet,
No one denies their raucous violence.

In every mind there is a fear,
slow to speak and hard to hear.
In every heart that safe appears,
there are veins that bleed soft tears

and through all the lonely years, I've found
nothing is as kind as it appears. I frown

as she whispers in her sleep, through dreams silent and severe.
Her heartbeat softly weeps, and her demon softly cheers.

Blossoms shine the same
pink as the horizon sheds.
Sunsets mark her eyes.

Sunlight dreads retreat
from black lungs that weep and bend.
Watching from the shade.

I'll keep you in my sight
with this lonely light I hold aloft.
I'll ward away the dark and fright;
I'll safeguard when your soul is lost.

I'll keep you from harm within my arms
that circle round your shaking form.
No need for tears or wide eyed alarm;
My arms will shield you from the storm.

I don't mind sharing this lonely cross,
whose bearer's face looked so forlorn,
Let me safeguard those tearful eyes so lost.
My arms will shield you from the storm.

Keening high notes mark our eyes
with scattered tears that multiply
with every breath we take in vain
and every longing lover's sigh.

Cellos resonate our hearts.
Timpani drums announce our march,
and when choirs sound like screams of pain
I know what it feels like to remain apart.
                            
                                                     Al Coda
                                                Let's try this again,
                                                ere this depression,
                                                this lonely obsession,
                                                eats away at my brain.

Keening high notes mark my eyes,
because I know what it feels like to remain apart.
It's the requiem of a broken heart.
It's the sound of a Lark Ascending
that falls before the symphony's ending;
The caged lonely bird that dies at the start.

Ringed fingers run across sculpted chests,
and they don their red stained lipstick vests.
"Roxanne" plays in the background,
and it feels like raindrops falling down,
because my eyes are cold, and blue, and wet.

Misty eyes and tired smoke
breathe deep through aching, weary lungs.
We cry in alleyways and choke
on strange bedfellows with probing tongues.
My heart is filled with tear stained jokes.
My jeans are filled with crumbled ones.

Enshrouded in mist,
far flung shores requite nothing.
Lonely eyes watch hushed.

Tonight there is no moon
and the purple skyline
bleeds the color of my skin.
There is no wind.
There is no time.
There is no sin.
There is no moon.
Only those aching shades of blue,
and the ruptured veins within.