When your face drains to white
and black grows around your eyes,
when you continue to live in mid-night songs,
even as your heart beat becomes a surprise.

When the weekend's velveteen fields
are filled with resentment, and stained blue -
every **** text, upon every eve,
two years straight and still I hope it's you.

You were the painful medicine,
replacing my October-distraught sinews,
two hearts beating blindly
one out of synch, starting to confuse;

oh I'm running, I'm crying
and I'm racing the dawning clock -
you're so transfixing, and surprising
lurking where reality stops;

loving you is like loving a blade,
one lone westerner
comforting, stroking, fulfilling his own demise -

I'm useless, pathetic,

and you're still Pretty Crystal Blue Eyes...