I can be an angel with my wings alight with fire take flight and sing as part of one large flaming choir, or I could be the depths you want to see as you look into the ocean,do you want me to become the fun in the fun house,the titmouse that makes you squeal,the breath on your lips that make you feel so very, very nice or the unaffordable price that I won't make you pay and the heat of your day turned into the spice of my night the shade on the lamp light or the shadow you find as you tune slowly in to what's going on in my mind?
Would it bother you to know that I'm as slow as a snail would you sail as quickly to this dangerous shore and be grounded, though not wrecked as I want more and more of you? do you think when you sink into sleep that the angel with the wings on fire is there just for the heavenly choir and not for you did you never believe that your dreams would come true and if they could would you be as happy as me when I'm watching you sleep as I stand guard and keep the nightmares away?
Sail quickly into this bay let us lay down and die while our cries fade away making love in the forenoon what a wonderful way what a day to begin.
I am the slave of desire take hold of my wings and put out this fire that drenches me,quench my thirst,burst me apart and then look into my heart and what do you feel as I peel off my skin layer by layer will you say a prayer as we enter? The pupil and the mentor and which is which but one and the same and oh what lessons to make games from.
The bomb explodes the fires die down I open these eyes that have seen so much more than the breakfasts of dreams in a bowl, upturned and empty on the cold bedroom floor I want some law to be enacted that would stop these distractions that brings mornings to life and send eyes open wide, where once again I'm beside myself with the passion of loss.
As I burn so I learn and I feel the need to read between the lines, which are the scratches upon the faces from some other times or lines of other rhymes we have read and lost or ****** away into the bottom drawer. There has to be more than I see more than me more than we or what we become more fun as we squeal and we feel what we are something that lies somewhere behind the distance of the distant star or another bar on the fruit machine that bandit we see but have never seen let me think on, and in dreams I'll belong to the truth of the night with fiery wings I'll take flight and we'll start all over again.