In winter you can look and look around but still, as every man has found, there is no rose. Girls of calm and February lies spring and warmth's beginnings. Always right and sweet and wise steal the pleasures of living. When all has been promised as forever how am I to refrain? But then as soon as ruby leaves dissevered he left me miseries, left me rain. For roses bloom on ****** skin not on skulls accused of sin.
If Summer were not but a season and instead a man. I would beckon him closer, put myself in his hands. We would walk slow silent as happiness and from me, would grow a terrible little sprig of tenderness. Feel his radiance right up in my bones, lay under that sweltering shadow. Only, come Autumn, to feel so alone.
Little girl wants someone to hold her. young thing lays upon her own shoulder. The room smells of french perfume and she strings and ties herself into a loom. Fastened, fasts for days faster, faster waves. There's bloodstains. Bloodstains on the carpet! Now paint drains, from her skin, how pretty, pale and thin. She worships her shut eye visions, forms a new kind of religion. Creates her own voided world, glides away, funny, white sails unfurled. Something follow, truer and true a whole to hold onto, a hole to fall into.
All this time I've been keeping my mind on running waves, screaming over oceans much bigger higher and louder than my love. Pulling out of my cards; Jacks and Knaves. Happiness is not you it is not addiction, maybes and days of soon. Depth holding me is comfort so is awaking at noon. But it's not honest, it is a life, untrue. To the girl that I am and the wind now blows through. Gone from your shores, alone on an island of myself. No desire for more. I am province, I am proof that growth is blue. Love is not to abuse, and happiness is not you.
You leant up against the wall and grinned a grin so deafening. Child, then boy, followed by a man all false reckoning. The problem and the solution to much of my delusion. A lamp off in the coldest nights, and a monster holding me, loving and tight. I laid a hand upon the wall to touch your nuance, your distance; beckoning ever on. There you stood, indistinct, a heaving storm gone with a blink.
He was a morning lullaby, and I, a sleepless night. So, lay in my bed hypnotized dying and all right. Down in the lawn early dew, I lean against the steady pecan. Walk, but never follow through. Silken sheets and rosy eyes I am a set piece in a house of lies. Sometimes, think I've up and died at the waking shore. Yes, he be a morning lullaby, come to sing once more.
Eyes of hazel she is April, showering all my days, she is killer, I am Abel. Evil; in her ways. Walking backwards, the sweet disaster. And teases like a winter's blackbird. Mirrors, where I see her oh they make, make things clearer. Pacing down familiar stairs chanting old, empty prayers, looking for ghost of months gone by here she come, there she lie.