You can take something,
but can you take nothing?
You can take their life,
but can you take their soul?
You hit alright,
but can you hit no more?
You can start,
but can you stop?
You can stop.
You can stop.

We are fools
On our own
Because our love grows

You tell me
We can never be together
Here I am
Sitting with myself
Thinking of ways to keep myself
From falling apart

Like bells they hear this ringing
Not of Christmas but of orange goodness.
This Irish voice walks past on balled up green,
her hair red as the warmth in early March spring.
The voice speaks of prickled roses that lie at my feet,
she reminisces on the tacky green and welcomes
the seaweed green.

It's baffling the up and down in her voice
Like a paper crown it could tumble,
My eyes dare look left.
She's skipping now, down to the town hall
to walk off the corners edge.

Beauty was her name
But deceiving
Were her looks,

Written on the seams
Of her well ironed dress,
Popping from the shine
Of her blood spattered
Lipstick

If I were a fool
Then they would call me a genius -
But because I knew her
I am nothing
But broken