a violet fluid
'has he become your shadow' she said can we design our fate by telling ourselves that this is real
what will make the broken heart become foam
sell the brakes and watch as the car rolls into ice, they could not stop this from happening as in twenty years that follow i want to spend it with you, the friends and seasons die when the rope is being held upon the dream of something that can be real and something that can fade, do not doubt this trust that i only give to you
the truth of what i give, so hope this is want we want
when rings cross fingers they say nothing is natural as distance give us the space to know who will cry when this over, who will sip coffee and remember the early morning when this was something we could afford
and this rope gets caught when i say... and the threads splinter when i feel that i...
the road at dawn is silent when i tell you that you are the truth not i, and i can never say no, to anyone but you, as the passing traffic knows nothing of what we have said, of what we have done and i wish that this were different as i walk bare foot thru the city streets, my fags becomes wet and broken in the rain and the salt strip collects on what i think of you, when eyes meet, i look away when i here her say ' has he become your shadow'
and hope becomes the denial of reality, walking the missionary way, falling down, sinking into this curesd ocean our memories will remain the same as i say 'sew my eyes shut, for i do not want to watch you die'
ease this helden heart in another language i tell you of my scars
but kiss my tattos when you finish coming
at the edge of the bed, the edge of your dreams, i sit waiting for the cancer in the throat with smoke in the air, and lonley hearts melt when they remember us
a cold bastion of what could be, never let the dreams die for they will kill you in the end and as armies march on, the winter winds whip thru this blasted city and the voices on the air recall that god is dead, which is what the papers would read if any one could run the press, but this is hollow now a sheltered moment in time when what is done is done, sinking down in red waters i cannot tell the difference of blood and water
swell the ocean and they rise inside, drifting down in this failing light i need to hear what you have to say
and in twenty years i want to know who will wear the hat
and i am asking if this is real, what has gone by and what has happened
what will make the broken heart become foam
sell the brakes and watch as the car rolls into ice, they could not stop this from happening as in twenty years that follow i want to spend it with you, the friends and seasons die when the rope is being held upon the dream of something that can be real and something that can fade, do not doubt this trust that i only give to you
the truth of what i give, so hope this is want we want
when rings cross fingers they say nothing is natural as distance give us the space to know who will cry when this over, who will sip coffee and remember the early morning when this was something we could afford
and this rope gets caught when i say... and the threads splinter when i feel that i...
the road at dawn is silent when i tell you that you are the truth not i, and i can never say no, to anyone but you, as the passing traffic knows nothing of what we have said, of what we have done and i wish that this were different as i walk bare foot thru the city streets, my fags becomes wet and broken in the rain and the salt strip collects on what i think of you, when eyes meet, i look away when i here her say ' has he become your shadow'
and hope becomes the denial of reality, walking the missionary way, falling down, sinking into this curesd ocean our memories will remain the same as i say 'sew my eyes shut, for i do not want to watch you die'
ease this helden heart in another language i tell you of my scars
but kiss my tattos when you finish coming
at the edge of the bed, the edge of your dreams, i sit waiting for the cancer in the throat with smoke in the air, and lonley hearts melt when they remember us
a cold bastion of what could be, never let the dreams die for they will kill you in the end and as armies march on, the winter winds whip thru this blasted city and the voices on the air recall that god is dead, which is what the papers would read if any one could run the press, but this is hollow now a sheltered moment in time when what is done is done, sinking down in red waters i cannot tell the difference of blood and water
swell the ocean and they rise inside, drifting down in this failing light i need to hear what you have to say
and in twenty years i want to know who will wear the hat
and i am asking if this is real, what has gone by and what has happened