Trace around her lips with his fingers, he tries to draw on a smile,
|
"Give it time. These scars are the stars that will show you the light."
|
And now she's all he sees;
|
he stays awake to watch her breathe the unheard
|
melodies; the grace notes of her restless sleep.
|
|
Hold me now, don't let it fade away from here. It's so clear…
|
|
His tattered undershirt?a souvenir that she likes to breathe in.
|
She sighs?days spent doing nothing unconscious of time.
|
And now he's all she sees;
|
she stays awake to watch him breathe the unknown
|
poetry; sweet sonnets of how it should be.
|
|
And everybody might just have these same ideas--
|
these same plans--I suppose...
|
|
We've found a perfect niche:
|
where plastic meets perfect, kill substance for style...
|
But inside, we get burned by the fuel that we cannot deny.
|
|
-----------------
|
Don't Let It Fade
|
| Sunday's Best |
