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.