The windowsill,
A perfect picture
Thin dark and dainty pine leaves frolic
Swaying to there restless friend
This friend moves at its own accord
Whispering secrets to all
Blowing strangers hair out of there perfect conditions
And casting its dark tranquility over these friends
Is the mornings lover
Both tragically parted
Longing after the other
And mingling with these friends are the lights that illuminate every street giving guidance to the lost
In this god forsaken town
And accompanying all these friends is the tears of god
Sending his damnation in the form of new life
So as I sit at the windowsill I realise I am so very jealous of these friends
At least they have a home
Even if it is in utter damnation
So I sit and look upon the friends and lovers
Contemplating this Perfect picture
In this ******* perfect town
Wondering when it is I will become perfect