do my dreams live on your golden soul? is my voice remembrance of your walk? should i have compassion that you suffered? may i cool that village still in flames? Paris hears my aching heart and struggles. . will you cling to me and gently whisper that magic future's very much alive? write your words on rough and sculpted stone, bath me with the wings from lofty angels, place your lips upon my breast and cry. . no, i shall not love you, but i want to, (i slew too many by the eastern sky,) let me bring you lovely yellow flowers, use them for the stripes upon my soul, hide my steps from those who lust to harm me. . touch me with your soft and lovely kisses, (from your pure and crystal Elven lips), raise me to the highest tree in heaven, i'll drink from cedar cups; craft you a throne, sing to me forever by a sea shore. . and ..... . (c) erik 11/23/2019