there's a heart of india ink bleeding through my system
it ripples through a different world
and comes right back through my lungs
saying "i'm sorry" took too long
indifferent in its sound, a guilty muse of apathetic pleasure
there was a man in france who died this week
dedicated his life to that of creating an ambient force of music
never settling for one medium of passion
spanning outwards evermore
they say he's inimitable
glorious
envied
my veins are wrapped around this reality-based darkness
it waltzes in my head
gory tenderness is my claim
i can't hum your story in the streets
but i'll rob you of your innocence
how you happily fall into the scheme of being
a heart of eden muse