(no subject)
And in the midst of the December sunlight
Not armed with the wisdom of a thousand minds
All she does is slip on her shoes.
They’re not pink this time, and her throat is bare
this road doesn’t twist into the tales of the fairies
or down the pathways of faith -
Life’s never that simple anymore.
And her thoughts float in…
she lives and feeds off memories; her photo albums tell it all
a split-second of sanity, then painted skies she can’t recall
oh, sweet innocence, where does the angel’s melody begin?
play the record back ten years, before her blood committed sin
…and she breathes out - her eyes open -
each ray of gold pours into seas of blue
yet still the moments of the piano plinking
and flashbacks of fantasies flying past
- they’re hanging on a thread -
she’s hanging on one single thread
as the music plays…
like a montage mapping, home in one push of rewind
November’s eve spent laughing - but she’s leaving it all behind -
and while leaving comfort zone, the next road’s playing suicide
somehow without His hand, her mental thoughts start to collide
…and the lyrics fade, a simple tune
to contemplate the former adoration,
Former worship of the One and Only,
Who’s hand was just out of reach, every time
The lamb had lost its way.
And she stumbles…
Across the one life of a seraph, whose story she’s led to believe
But why did Heaven not answer when she begged upon her knees?
And why did the sound of summer dissolve into the winter’s air?
In half a heartbeat, her mind’s controlled by the devil’s prayer
…then she escapes to another nightmare
each corridor turning into the next
until they all melt into a simple image
of horror, jeering, leering
at the one who failed in misery.
And reality dawns…
in her foolish, childish days, one guardian did point the way
then took courtesy to declare the duration of his stay
and in one movement, ripped out all belief this child once held
left her a decade lost, by tombstones, she built up her shell
…as the clock rings eleven-eleven
her veins pulse at one-twenty -
in time to the rhythm of her footsteps .
With no direction or intention
just a map in her mind, and a novel in her heart
her time limit hits zero.
And she runs…
Away from every shattered thought, her anger fuels her dying fire
She blacked an image of the world He made filled with desire
And cremated every song that celebrates this Heaven’s lie
Threw the pages of His scripture into the mere mortal’s sky
…and she cries ‘life’s never that simple anymore.
My road doesn’t twist into tales of the fairies,
Or down the pathways of faith.’
And in the midst of the December moonlight
Not armed with the safety of a thousand prayers
all she does is run away.
2 days :D
Not armed with the wisdom of a thousand minds
All she does is slip on her shoes.
They’re not pink this time, and her throat is bare
this road doesn’t twist into the tales of the fairies
or down the pathways of faith -
Life’s never that simple anymore.
And her thoughts float in…
she lives and feeds off memories; her photo albums tell it all
a split-second of sanity, then painted skies she can’t recall
oh, sweet innocence, where does the angel’s melody begin?
play the record back ten years, before her blood committed sin
…and she breathes out - her eyes open -
each ray of gold pours into seas of blue
yet still the moments of the piano plinking
and flashbacks of fantasies flying past
- they’re hanging on a thread -
she’s hanging on one single thread
as the music plays…
like a montage mapping, home in one push of rewind
November’s eve spent laughing - but she’s leaving it all behind -
and while leaving comfort zone, the next road’s playing suicide
somehow without His hand, her mental thoughts start to collide
…and the lyrics fade, a simple tune
to contemplate the former adoration,
Former worship of the One and Only,
Who’s hand was just out of reach, every time
The lamb had lost its way.
And she stumbles…
Across the one life of a seraph, whose story she’s led to believe
But why did Heaven not answer when she begged upon her knees?
And why did the sound of summer dissolve into the winter’s air?
In half a heartbeat, her mind’s controlled by the devil’s prayer
…then she escapes to another nightmare
each corridor turning into the next
until they all melt into a simple image
of horror, jeering, leering
at the one who failed in misery.
And reality dawns…
in her foolish, childish days, one guardian did point the way
then took courtesy to declare the duration of his stay
and in one movement, ripped out all belief this child once held
left her a decade lost, by tombstones, she built up her shell
…as the clock rings eleven-eleven
her veins pulse at one-twenty -
in time to the rhythm of her footsteps .
With no direction or intention
just a map in her mind, and a novel in her heart
her time limit hits zero.
And she runs…
Away from every shattered thought, her anger fuels her dying fire
She blacked an image of the world He made filled with desire
And cremated every song that celebrates this Heaven’s lie
Threw the pages of His scripture into the mere mortal’s sky
…and she cries ‘life’s never that simple anymore.
My road doesn’t twist into tales of the fairies,
Or down the pathways of faith.’
And in the midst of the December moonlight
Not armed with the safety of a thousand prayers
all she does is run away.
2 days :D