If romance is dead, then so is music-
Unchained melody, familiar tune.
Spare me the notes that I already know;
Trade it for something more original.
I just now caught the shadow of your smile:
It’s playing across the canvas of my ceiling.
Memory is the after-taste of sight-
Thus, let me be a connoisseur artist.
I don’t believe in “Always,” or “Never.”
We are too temporary for such words.
Promises are only good intentions,
Temporary honesty at its best-
Or, so They will say, those ominous They-
Societal demons in gold cages.
See how they watch. See how they point and stare.
See how they see me find my own way out.
Jul 20, 2010
Jul 20, 2010 at 7:00 PM UTC
If romance is dead, then so is music-
Unchained melody, familiar tune.
Spare me the notes that I already know;
Trade it for something more original.
I just now caught the shadow of your smile:
It’s playing across the canvas of my ceiling.
Memory is the after-taste of sight-
Thus, let me be a connoisseur artist.
I don’t believe in “Always,” or “Never.”
We are too temporary for such words.
Promises are only good intentions,
Temporary honesty at its best-
Or, so They will say, those ominous They-
Societal demons in gold cages.
See how they watch. See how they point and stare.
See how they see me find my own way out.
Oldie, but goodie (-ish).