Would you like to talk about
The winding water
And its sprouting light?
Yes,
The one you can see at night
From the soup parlor by the river
That serves memories, carved inside
A polished mirrored platter
Which made the boys all bright
And washed them saner
Along its tide of deluded truth
Come,
Would you like to talk about
The winding water?
The home for a thousand soul
All wrapped up, though foul
In a confounded streaming wire
And there, strayed the traveler
For a good four-hundred-year old
With his face down, and stories untold
Would you like to talk about
The sprouting light?
From the lanterns hung
To adorn the tide long
From the flowers of the head
Wilted and and still drowned
By the name of the lil moon’s
All dead hopes
Talking about the winding water
And its sprouting light
The old traveller
And the years has passed,
our little moon killed itself
Just to know that light
Eventually looked beautiful
Shrouded in darkness
Say now,
All my darling—
Why would you talk about
The winding water
And its sprouting light?
Why romanticize a world
Dull and weary?
Because beauty is made up,
and we live for beauty?
Or because we live in beauty,
and life is made up?