I could write your name
In the fog on the glass
Acquire a taste for those who pass.
A note on the margin
Of a torn out page
That slowly yellows with time and age.
But nothing will change.
The tears melt into smiles
Blue eyed rejoice, it's happiness
That crumbles as smiles drip from perfectness.
The trace of a figure
Upon a silver plane
We turn, return, remain the same.
And nothing ever seems to change.
Jun 29, 2011
Jun 29, 2011 at 1:10 PM UTC
I could write your name
In the fog on the glass
Acquire a taste for those who pass.
A note on the margin
Of a torn out page
That slowly yellows with time and age.
But nothing will change.
The tears melt into smiles
Blue eyed rejoice, it's happiness
That crumbles as smiles drip from perfectness.
The trace of a figure
Upon a silver plane
We turn, return, remain the same.
And nothing ever seems to change.