How stereotypical can one person be?
Our hearts are like birds and its wings are the sea,
Relentless yet soft, as the sirens sing: "Free."
And salty yet sweet, ore the distance we'll heave

A sigh as a sign from our lips: "Nevermore."
If minds are our boats as our boats near the shore,
The ocean's grown sour, our sails are torn,
The wind-maker cries at the siren's song: "War"

Our intricate, gossamer sails we weave,
If heartbreak is rain and the sky starts to bleed,
Unravel and all that is left: You and Me
Will fly and will love without wings, but two feet.