If you pretend, you'll never know the right way this ends.
It's the passion of my pen that prescribes this medical zen.
In my den, I walk on water, I speak in colors, it's the message that I send- I received,
Do you really need to know where it comes from?

There's this spiritual axiom, that I've been askin' him, entranced by this romance,
All these butterflies and pretty clouds I've never had the chance to give.
In my passive peculiar I'm a user of catastrophe, exacerbate the simple happenings
That disaster brings. When I lived in California it was women, it was water, it wasn't the waves,
The way her hair flirted and twirled, and whipped around when the sun every-day would
Come out.

It wasn't that I didn't have the drive, the will to survive, I even had the doll-dollars, my rent was paid, I flew around in private airplanes, and every single day I got laid. Even her father was like, "He's a cool cat, you better make 'em put a ring on that." But she ******, ain't got a clue-
if I was me then now, then I'd now what I was supposed to do.

I was supposed to ride... clear the air and see the skies. Be bliss-bound, virile, like White Snake, Just make her mine. But I was...insincere, adolescent, and hiding behind a barrier. I didn't have the Strength to carry her. It was paramount, but I wasn't 100% percent clear.

Now I'd say, well, since, it's been 1,244 days. While I sit and listen to grave-wave, having a great day.
I'm in love again, and the music says,"There's a lot of cool in them, and he never had a doubt."
Kay even said, I shouldn't trouble on the past, the present is so much better then even the future, she said, "It's in you" and I guess the Truth is, I imagine you, beautiful, intriguing, like a different forever, that even I once was 20, too.





For Kristine

By Martin Narrod