just thinking of her
dreams are like angels. when they fall to the earth they become human. and humans work angles, to get what they want. as they become demons, and wind up in hell.
and hope is like freedom, an idea you cannot touch. it winds up in summary, and held before a crutch. that you lean on to grasp, for every footfall after the last.
and her apathy is like pain, that cuts like a knife. it seeks out veins, and lets you die in the night. it gets sharpened with indifference, and holds you paralized and tight.
and your love is like rust, corroding the metal. you don't want the new car to fade, or to fall from a flower like a petal. you want it to be engrained with strength, rising up form fire, sweat, and steam from the kettle.
oh dear sweetness, oh dear petal. oh dear sunrise, oh shine on metal. oh the names i've called you and kept next to my heart. has everything i've done in these last few centuries been for you? have you really inspired me, have i found an idea of you, is that all that has become of your flesh, just a distant ideal in the dawn of a dream? have you flown from me like a beautiful butterfly aloft the palm of my hands? in meadow of flowers is where you left me, is where i'll make my stand.
and hope is like freedom, an idea you cannot touch. it winds up in summary, and held before a crutch. that you lean on to grasp, for every footfall after the last.
and her apathy is like pain, that cuts like a knife. it seeks out veins, and lets you die in the night. it gets sharpened with indifference, and holds you paralized and tight.
and your love is like rust, corroding the metal. you don't want the new car to fade, or to fall from a flower like a petal. you want it to be engrained with strength, rising up form fire, sweat, and steam from the kettle.
oh dear sweetness, oh dear petal. oh dear sunrise, oh shine on metal. oh the names i've called you and kept next to my heart. has everything i've done in these last few centuries been for you? have you really inspired me, have i found an idea of you, is that all that has become of your flesh, just a distant ideal in the dawn of a dream? have you flown from me like a beautiful butterfly aloft the palm of my hands? in meadow of flowers is where you left me, is where i'll make my stand.