Call upon the troubadours who are unaware of the telephone: to them it was ghosts coming through on wires. Darkness empowered imagination, and light caused it to surrender. Now I ask, "How's the weather?" And you bring up the past.
The fire that still burns between us extinguished by time. Time has this rotting effect-- when a clock can be reconstructed, but never turned back.
Used to be in lust, but I just say fine the only time I meant it was when you were mine, living inside my mind.
They sent me away in April when we stopped talking completely- I saw you outside my barred windows looking out upon the horizon met with kisses from the pavement.
My vertigo didn't plague me anymore, when all I wanted was to soar.
They reintroduced us inside a paper cup, you were blue, white, and green. Tasted of nothing, there again, self-immolation seemed like something out of a movie scene.
Saw you in my dreams, but never awoke with you next to me. You were never watching over me in the mirror reflection. You stopped coming, ending the affection.
I'm still wondering where you've gone, when I was released they said you'd take your time but perhaps with the changing chemicals running amuck in my brain, you'd show me a sign?