Some Guardian Angels are drinking
Some are doing *******
Some are dancing in the rain
They call some people bipolar but that sounds excessively bipolar
But that's what the Angels are doing
The balanced mixture of great elation and immense displeasure
I wonder why it's this way?
I have to ask God
But he's busy with his press conferences
The poor man is tired, give him some slack
Or her, hell who knows
I'm equally good with both.

You have made it very clear
but for some reason I can't hear
when I look in your eyes
no burning fire only little white lies
its so easy to see
you don't have for me
what I have for you
so if this is true
and i completely understand

then why can't I accept it?

You're as beautiful as Mensa
And i'm a young gun with Dementia
Forgetting things cause the thoughts are out of pace
But at least you're a magnificent preface
To the story about to unfold here

You've got the wingspan of someone who never touches ground
Nothing ever downs what you've got going for you
You have got depth that I cannot fathom
How do you walk the road less traveled
What do you have that keeps your head up
Why does it look so easy from here
Whatever you have
I can't find it
It seems that each of your waking moments are the beginnings of even better days
Chain me to the rocks so that I may better see how to live like you
Blindfold my eyes so I can hear how you walk on
Muffle my ears so I can learn how to move on.

Tonight their reflections in the window look more real than what's in the room
The students study for a life that's in front of me and the old ones reap what they have sown
We live on keys and coffee and electricity
Tonight people are all about, but one soft voice spoke louder than the crowd
I approach with a smile and hello, I like the scarf around her neck and her purple dress, this is not a test
As it goes we see the similar shades in each other's colors, like the art hanging all around us, I'll be there if you will and she says the same
I can't contain my smile at the twinkle in her eyes

My drink is cold going down as I sit back and admire how it all works out in the window

What does she do when you sit in distress?
Your bowtie askew, this I asked:

What does she do when you stay up late, a restless fit;
an empty plate,
you do so sit, what does she do when you silently wish?

What does she do when you cope and pray, when you have wasted your entire day;
dreaming and hoping,
but to your dismay, what does she say when you look away?

What does she say when you laugh and cry, and how does she feel when you say goodbye? Does she smile, and beg to stay? I bet you wish it were that way.

What does she do when it comes to you, is this the life for just two, or are you rushing by too fast? Or must you hide behind your mask?

What does she do when you seem content, but can't muster a single, calm reply,
when I ask...
What does she do to your heart that I can't grasp?