The steps to the museum are many ,
Won’t you help me up the stairs ?
There’s a program with every item ,
every ***** of me .
Up the steps through the open door ,
how many rooms are here ?
Now a chair stands all alone with no pictures on the wall ,
In the middle of a room ,
my heart lies behind that glass ,
a Spector ,
a ghost behind a wall .
Won’t you see how this blood runs from traitors gate ,
with
bread that’s long gone stale,
for judgement falls and my axe draws nigh ,
from deaths daughter must I fly ,
her lips are near ,
her crimson touch
not that I should dwell ,
Never a traitor ,
nor a Herotic
not i ,
Should ever be ?
If my head said yes and my heart said no then is there a life for me ?
What foolish thoughts my mind portraid
that were my very own ,
a complex web unbeknown could that stranger now be ?
The words are so beautiful and their truth no heart can see ,
and yet my heart with holy spirits and angels with keys surrounded me .
How my dreams go back to that same old place how sweet the’re
sorrows tell ,
of fields of bluebells and butterflies,
and all will be well .
I walk into the sun ,
then the sun hides behind a cloud and my world goes dim ,
no Light my heart has fled to a thousand differant things .
Here I sit ,
My heart on display
a traitor a heretic ? ask my heart not me .
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 10:25 AM UTC
The steps to the museum are many ,
Won’t you help me up the stairs ?
There’s a program with every item ,
every ***** of me .
Up the steps through the open door ,
how many rooms are here ?
Now a chair stands all alone with no pictures on the wall ,
In the middle of a room ,
my heart lies behind that glass ,
a Spector ,
a ghost behind a wall .
Won’t you see how this blood runs from traitors gate ,
with
bread that’s long gone stale,
for judgement falls and my axe draws nigh ,
from deaths daughter must I fly ,
her lips are near ,
her crimson touch
not that I should dwell ,
Never a traitor ,
nor a Herotic
not i ,
Should ever be ?
If my head said yes and my heart said no then is there a life for me ?
What foolish thoughts my mind portraid
that were my very own ,
a complex web unbeknown could that stranger now be ?
The words are so beautiful and their truth no heart can see ,
and yet my heart with holy spirits and angels with keys surrounded me .
How my dreams go back to that same old place how sweet the’re
sorrows tell ,
of fields of bluebells and butterflies,
and all will be well .
I walk into the sun ,
then the sun hides behind a cloud and my world goes dim ,
no Light my heart has fled to a thousand differant things .
Here I sit ,
My heart on display
a traitor a heretic ? ask my heart not me .
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