A rising tide spent drowning in days lost to one heart's final lament.
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Thrown off like grins known only to the dead.
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Plastered behind scarlet eyes - Scarlet eyes!
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Plastered behind scarlet eyes, stinking of tomorrow.
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I say that once a letter is written. it's not so easily sent.
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Like trying to find 2 of 3, but settling for one of me instead.
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It's a hard faith to follow: the constant give without the take; after the scraping through it's one less heart to break.
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A head above water for the eyes held under a lasting plea for the lost mind torn asunder.
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Nothing but fair trades and farewells, when the present tense reveals a sixth sense, when you'd die for a word or one less empty shell.
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Prepare Repair
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| Hot Cross |
