I am anatomically correct
But atomically, a mess
I am chaotic and undressed
One hundred thousand bricks
Comprised of tiny pieces all compressed
I am a prison for little hollow ghosts
That push until pulled
While I am standing here still
And they climb to the top where they come to a stop
At a grave on a cemetery hill
She fills up the air
With soft falling notes
That burst from her eyes
And dance with the ghosts by the light that once burned
To the song of the Seraphim's sigh
Bring to me a pair of aces
Smiling faces and a cup of coffee
Empty spaces and her heart
Torn from the tearing
Of teeth gnashing, eyes glaring
As I stand here still playing my part
Her music my magic
A cage for the tragic
And the life I've been too scared to start
She used to sing to the storm
With her outstretched right arm
Lines forming from rain that would spill
Yearning to feel something other than real
The night she plunged into the cemetery hill
A call to order is sounded
The drummer pounds for attention
As I'm fixed on the light on the sea
The full moon's reflection is my insurrection
When still burns the fire
In her eyes, I aspire to be
Lifted into the air, without worry or care
Take these ghosts from my bonds and set free
For the chains of despair, when I was made to wear
Sank me into the depths of the sea
But I can now take to flight
On the might of the light
She burns brightly if only for me.