I sit here in tomorrow,
as you lay there in yesterday.

I can tell you what's to come:
a broken glass,
some tears,
and too many tubs of ice cream.
Oh an the best thing of all:
a smile
that will surely come.

An endearing gesture, the respited conjecture.
   Fidelity to be measured within the length of our arms,
To be faithful to ends in which gratitude is yet yearned.
    Within the brazen walls of such lasting impressions,
The only abstract love is of the confessions.

Let the sincerity of words touch your stricken heart,
  Before this world ends, before affliction starts.
Trust these words of wisdom that age cannot exactly tell,
  Listen to the gallows of before a winter fell.

The warmth in your veins mingles with the red of mine,
Under the sported remains of a husk of refrain.
   Be the wind to guide the loose leaves of a summers passed,
   Be the loving gesture of a lasting lovers grasp.

Watery depths to sink in like stones, relishing the moments as gold wears down and folds.
Take this epitome of life and flush the blood out, the snow white complexion seemingly calmed down.
White gold mixes with bronze, bronze to mix with steel. This makes an alloy no stronger than it feels.
Quiet silence, sudden outbreaks, what happens to these souls when their love washed away.
Rush up to the wooden box, to be buried under the snow.
Push those regretful tears away, filled with sorrow and woe.
Put down those hands upon white cloth, resting onto the black attire to reminisce on the moment with loss

A desolate desire, a rambunctious hope.
To see the burning fire within this zealous stroke,
With inflamed vessels of red to be seared,
The beat of a heart with a sound quite fickle.

Undecided fate, lack of concentration.
  In a mind of dissipation, despise the renunciations.
Piece together the puzzle of the human mind and rip apart to be in the mad man's confines.
  
Fortitude to bear, uninterrupted disaster.
  Tutor the wreck less with ambition, explain your own maddening rendition.
  Take back the flames of a stolen heart, hope it lasts before it starts.

When the threads of gold are stretched,
  When the lives of men are in distress.
Pull down the lever to start this endeavor,
  With the pinprick of the gold spinner to put the princess to sleep,
     Bring about the winds of change as warring factions heed the call of priceless lives,
  The minstrels singing to the winners who survived the fall.

With the  kingdom crumpled and the men at fault,
   Who is there to blame but the king's forethought?
Wherein these restless nights shall lead to turmoil and the walls shall decay.
    Despise the soldiers who protect the fray,
Put arms in revolution and take back the winds...
    And have it all start over again.

It was summer love that took my heart,
A love that took it then pulled the muscles apart.

The surgeon carefully cut me open to see what made me work,
Oh, the pain that I felt when it worked!

My poor heart was threaded back together,
But the damage would never heal from such an endeavor.

And when nature felt my pain she recoiled in shock to such a thing,
The birds that sang in love were ignorant of my tragedy.
  
The wind rustled the leaves on the branches, shaking them off.
But they would grow back always and forever.

Her hand touched mine and I felt a thrill,
I looked to her and we walked thru the woods.
We stumbled across the stream with laughter,
We walked thru even the worst of disasters!
Oh, how we loved and it all embedded itself into my chest.

She told me that it would never last, that she would leave and be long gone.
..now, I sit here in my chair, listening to nature once again. I sat dreaming of what might've happened; what I knew in reality kept me alive.
But, my imagination is what led me to cry.

That summer love that never existed,
And how love can be so fervently twisted.

Upon the worn trails of down trodden souls,
The fool, the sinner and the hopeful leave their woes.

On the path of salvation when many lost their way,
Other paths start to branch away.

A conestoga lays abandoned on the trail,
Where many idealists withered and failed.

The industrial city left behind in the dust filled wake,
No turning back from the journey,
You already chose your fate.

Where would you go in the months and weeks ahead?
Possibly to new Zion or make your own land to think that you'll be well on.

Beware of the adventure who is a fool to travel along,
So always journey together or die without a throne.