You high balcony no longer needs you,
maiden or maidens; and my love of loves.
Say bye to your window; bye to your blues.
Your pane is for the rain and the doves.
Don't waist your beauty on laughing alone
from a place that my trained hands cannot kiss.
I'm king of the moment; this is your throne
let us mix moonshine and madness with this.
You stay still?- You must hate my worn blue jeans,
and my stuttered way that I say my name.
I see I'm not the giant from your dreams,
you fit the ring, your rejecting to claim.
I should have guessed; judging by your window.
It's just the same, as everywhere I go.
Apr 17, 2011
Apr 17, 2011 at 1:54 PM UTC
You high balcony no longer needs you,
maiden or maidens; and my love of loves.
Say bye to your window; bye to your blues.
Your pane is for the rain and the doves.
Don't waist your beauty on laughing alone
from a place that my trained hands cannot kiss.
I'm king of the moment; this is your throne
let us mix moonshine and madness with this.
You stay still?- You must hate my worn blue jeans,
and my stuttered way that I say my name.
I see I'm not the giant from your dreams,
you fit the ring, your rejecting to claim.
I should have guessed; judging by your window.
It's just the same, as everywhere I go.