when the sun goes down
behind the trees
and locks her shutters tight

the moon comes out
with silver keys
to open up the night

The girl in the mirror
Is a liar
Even with the people she trusts
She lies
Even in the place she’s most bare
She lies
Even when its just us
She lies

And I’m too tired to figure out the truth
Or put anything I feel into words

lonely island of the atlantic
your glistening waves carry bottled words
left by old romantics,
traveling earth
yes the lonely island of the romantics

on your sandy dunes and
bright lit moon’s shine
i need you so bad
would you let me in
a new resident,
a lady gone mad

lonely island of the atlantic
your glistening waves carry bottled words
left by old romantics
traveling earth
yes the lonely island of the romantics

your palmy trees greet me
by your imperfect breeze
oh please let me in, let me in
i’m begging on my knees!

lonely island of the atlantic
glistening waves carry my bottled words
left by me, your romantic,
traveling your earth
yes the lonely island of the atlantic

lonely island of the dramatic
lonely island of the romantics
these are my bottled words

I am wilted. I am weary.
I am weathered. I am worn.
I am stuffed with seeping sadness, and stewed in sticky, seething scorn.

I am deflated. Thoughts debunked.
And I am drowned in desperate dread.  
When I soak my roots in water, I find it dries them out instead.

I am wilted. I am weary.
I am wilted. I am worn.