staying for red wisps and blue gazes
it was a passing torch to a love unwanted
few words heard from milky trips
the rest undetected as the black hole takes it all hostage
she’ll focus on the mirage, so it laughs
and I fall behind with green knives and bullet so closest
no more I want to say
no more I feel I can say

reeking of bleach and fallen stars
dusting my tomb of a laden fantasy
I’ve made it to hell without even dying
I’ve made my life here without even trying
all this happened as I began falling

from her voice there’ll come a pastel dream
or so I think, or so it seems, it’s only from what I have seen
if there’s nothing in this world of burnt out trees
how easy would it be to create something
like a blank canvas for a dreamer
but who still shakes at caressing the ink
and at a single mistake
at a glimpse of reality
will burn it all again
all again

peradventure the worst if flames are the same
in both our heads
melting in the winter
it’ll comfort or hurt
step away or get closer
careful with my words
who knows what’ll wither or what’ll grow
fateful with my words
who knows what’ll wither or what’ll grow