dark hair dark eyes
pale skin, red lipstick
cast a spell upon me
slave to desire, victim of passion
i am yours to command
for at first glance you had my body
and at second you had my soul

one can't begin to imagine
the haunted feeling i had
when you said no, turned
walked away
never giving me a chance
giving us a chance
leaving the opportunity of a lifetime on the table

nothing beats the pain
that a missed opportunity leaves
because you will never know
if maybe, things would've been glorious
a perfect ending
to the perfect beginning
but one can never find out

Life is full of strange little things
Like the fact that
None of us have ever actually seen our faces
Only our reflections
That seems so strange
All the people you've seen cry, all the smiles you have witnessed
But you have never viewed your own?
Eyes, brown or blue or green
Deep and sad, light and happy
A myriad of teeth and lips
Crooked noses, freckles
You can take them in on anyone and everyone
Except for yourself
I just think its strange
That you never get to see
The real you

If the angels sang in silence,
In the portrait on your wall,
Would you see the red lips moving,
Telling stories of their Fall?

If you walked along a pathway,
Neither street nor silent wood,
Would you go to all the places,
That you never thought you could?

If you smiled a little warmer,
At the girl who passed you by,
Would you look closer at her bruises,
And think to ask her why?

If the darkness held some colour,
For the spirits locked away,
Would you paint a better picture,
Of a shining summer's day?

If your mother held her arms out,
And laughed through all the tears,
Would you take her place of power,
And hold back all her fears?

We always think we notice,
But we still stand too far back,
To see what's right before us,
And perceive just what we lack,

It's a humble sort of vision,
When you let go of the wheel,
When you breathe the sweet air blowing,
And take the chance to feel.

Listen.
You can almost hear the raindrops
whisper to one another.
Listen.
You can hear the rhythm of your footsteps
Muffled by the puddles on the ground.
You say you love the rain, yet you complain
Every time it reaches out to touch your face.
It is as if each raindrop is a space between
One second and the next,
Seperating the past from the present.,
The present from the future,
And it is a cliche, but they say
That now is called the present because each second
Is a gift.
Wrapped up in paper they call clouds
And stolen the very instant it is unwrapped,
You always wonder
What you will open next.
And in a clap of thunder you realize
It is not the rain you hate, but the future.
Theres always somewhere to go,
Someone to see, some reason
‘I cant go there with my hair like that’
Some reason to say I'm sorry,
I'm sorry,
I'm sorry.

Listen.
The rain never apologizes ,
And that's what makes it beautiful.
Somehow it reflects a time when man was primal,
Before he gave himself the right to fear,
And it was simple,
And it was beautiful.

Listen.
The rain whispers *I love you,
And I am not sorry.

Its just past midnight
And the scent of you lingers
Caught in my hair
And my chest, where you laid your head
Smelling of lavender
Pure beauty
And as  I light my last cigarette
I look up towards the heavens
And ask why in the world
You couldn't be mine