It's four o'clock in the morning
My lips are frozen
And the words that I've chosen
Haven't led me there; entirely yet. . .
And all the T.V. shows
Have all gone cold
With static, cold static.
And I can't hear the breeze
Outside my window
Anymore.

I kissed you in the *dark
My love did it or did it not mean a thing?

The weeds that grow in between the times
All around the many states of religion and regain.

Confusion*, that's what I call it.
Believe nothing that the night will tell
You, you, you can only feel your way around the unknown things well
Enough. . .

Kiss me goodnight.
I'll lie awake in sweet nightmares delight.

(Your name here)
(It's alright)