the crow,
as black as
the ink
in newspapers
of yore...

rests on
a mountain
of white snow
along side
the
busy,
oft'
traveled
highway
of route #66.

as the
crow spreads
its wings
and
takes
flight,

for a few
moments
i live in
an old school
world
of only
black
and white.

your name is a silent word on my lips
because i'll never call you
after all the times i've lived
through the same thing before you

your name is the softest thing
that i have ever heard
oh, how i wish it wouldn't
make my heart hurt

loving her is
dreaming of tropical sunsets
while stuck up on a blizzard
believing her is
driving fast on the highway
with ***** in your blood
wanting her is
hoping for the snow to fall
in the month of July
kissing her is
chewing the pieces of your own broken heart one by one
but that shouldn't stop you from
-loving her
-believing her
-wanting her and
-kissing her
her rise might lead to your end
her smile might leave you distressed
you might land up in situations, you can't comprehend
but isn't what you signed up for when you chose her over me
so you are not allowed to give up on her
not now
not ever