Hands like a magic trick
Favorite band sounding like an activist
But every song takes him back to this
In vain, pulling rabbits out of wrists
Maybe this is something he can fix

She smiles like the sun, he's reminded of a son
Just a boy baking like a raisin praying for the one
If he could find in a friend what he confides in the end
He won't have to lie in the sin or hide from who he's been

He burns like broken embers in a kiln
Forging words from Iron and steel, she's made of iron and will
They fly higher and still desire fire to feel

She is stronger than her namesake, her and Hercules in the same place
Pacing in parentheses, he's not as patient as he used to be
"Why is she choosing me?" her eyes are where her truth could be
Window shopping in the same way, but his would never vacate

Hands liken to a tragic tick
Abstract fashion fit for a *******
Imagine this. They'll make it there and back again
Only to find she's magic and he's rabbit-less