My dear you are shades, degrees of the person never meant to be whole.
Tragedy is then regrets cast stones long sense that the demise in the darkness of the river's bed.

Can you take to wing what was never meant fly?
Embrace the man you never truly knew.
From have heard conversations and bedside confessions my dear does the night still hold true the way I never held you.

Can we erase this simply redesign it to her own liking?
Bury your head in the pillow lose yourself within pleasures only to mask it in half heard desires.

I give you this and nothing more dead skin under nail, souvenir of what never was.
Sometimes we make it more than it ever truly could be, paint the picture that never capture the flaws.

When to stained-glass views blind vision is my true reprise.
Will you answer that call?