Eyes sewn shut you could see right through me
A plastic  smile easily replaceable
Magnetic eyes I could t look away
Infectious laughter and a heart to die for
I to a dive and still no where to hide
To my surprise
Even through my ruse and deceit
I was still found and standing on my feet
Knew who I was didn't bother to run
She whispered with no remorse to say
You're the one

I love words and
I love metaphors.
I love the muse that inspires the words
and how flawlessly these words form metaphors.

I love deciding how people perceive me.
Even I am beautiful when painted metaphorically.

Where has the music gone? I don’t know.
We've lost our Lithium, especially our Spirit.  
Even Little Miss Strange has left our presence.
Where has the music gone? Could we possibly have some In Bloom?
Where has the music gone? It’s so hard to Imagine that she’s just disappeared.
It’s all just been a huge confusing Purple Haze since she’s left.
Where has the music gone? I think it’s becoming clearer.
So we light our candles and press on... For them, we press on.
Where has the music gone? She’s still here, she never left.
She just needs some new motivation.
Be the reason, make art.
No perfection, just feeling.
All Along The Watch Tower, the music is hidden.
Trapped in a Heart Shaped Box, waiting for release.
With A Little Help From My Friends, music will be a Blackbird to the World.
We just need to Come Together, and Breed passion.
Where has the music gone?
She’s right here.

O'er the midnight moorlands crying,
Thro' the cypress forests sighing,
In the night-wind madly flying,
Hellish forms with streaming hair;
In the barren branches creaking,
By the stagnant swamp-pools speaking,
Past the shore-cliffs ever shrieking,
****'d demons of despair.

Once, I think I half remember,
Ere the grey skies of November
Quench'd my youth's aspiring ember,
Liv'd there such a thing as bliss;
Skies that now are dark were beaming,
Bold and azure, splendid seeming
Till I learn'd it all was dreaming —
Deadly drowsiness of Dis.

But the stream of Time, swift flowing,
Brings the torment of half-knowing —
Dimly rushing, blindly going
Past the never-trodden lea;
And the voyager, repining,
Sees the wicked death-fires shining,
Hears the wicked petrel's whining
As he helpless drifts to sea.

Evil wings in ether beating;
Vultures at the spirit eating;
Things unseen forever fleeting
Black against the leering sky.
Ghastly shades of bygone gladness,
Clawing fiends of future sadness,
Mingle in a cloud of madness
Ever on the soul to lie.

Thus the living, lone and sobbing,
In the throes of anguish throbbing,
With the loathsome Furies robbing
Night and noon of peace and rest.
But beyond the groans and grating
Of abhorrent Life, is waiting
Sweet Oblivion, culminating
All the years of fruitless quest.

Tell me to go home again, tell me that I look tired one more time. Maybe that will be the push I need. Ask me what’s wrong again. Maybe this time I’ll tell you that I’m tired of the sun rising in the northwest instead of the east. This time I’ll tell you that I so badly want to detox from the drug that is your name. Because every time I hear it, smell it, and taste it I fall deeper down the rabbit hole. Spinning and swirling down the spiral to get to your home. How can you be friends with someone when all you crave is the sound of your name on their lips. When all you want is their hands on your hips and in your hair one more time. Drink in my thoughts the same way you sip that cheap beer. Tired of those eyes that watch you like the preview of their favorite movie only to decide to save it for another rainy day. Pause, rewind, play. Repeat.