start your engines! a baby is born, crying out for attention : "here we are now! entertain us!" wake from your sleep - music is a language in itself. kurt cobain is the next kurt cobain.
summers arrive with lengths of life then slip away into all the blue of sky and sea and flash of seagull's wing. and i'd say it makes a perfect angel in the snow, flying mother nature's silver seed to a new home in the sun.
and there's a letter on the desktop that i dug out of a drawer, you come regular like seasons, shadowing my dreams and i can't be without that scent; it's filling me with all you mean to me. beware. my heart can be a pin or sharp silver dragonfly, buying a stairway to heaven.
you stay up all night with the things you could do. (you won't, but you might.) i've seen the needle but is there damage done?
"hey!" said the lady to the man. "sicut cervus, desi derat ad fontes, aquarum!" (as the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee. 'cause life is short but sweet for certain.)
in that moment, we were infinite - the smile understood me just so far as i wanted to be understood, believed in me as i would like to believe in myself. you are my center when i spin away, and besides we match to a degree that i wouldn't trade for anything.
lilac wine is sweet and heavy, and the puzzle pieces are not me.
beware, my lord, of jealousy! 'tis the green-eyed monster that doth mock the meat it feeds on. thou hath anointed my head with oil, and my cup shall be full. i shall sleep in peace.
but all these poses - oh, how could you blame me? i said i'd be yours without a doubt on that big dipper,
but everybody leaves if they get the chance. this is mine.
there are two colors in my head : what was that you tried to say? everything everything everything in its right place.
you began to hang up me and studied to portray me, but nothing in september ever lasts past the punch lines, beyond them, we make no noise in our open mouths. maybe i’m just too young to keep good love from going wrong and the best thing i had had was gone . . . away.
we walked alone that day, ‘cuz all our friends had gone away from us and he talked just like a gentleman like i imagined when i was young.
even when it’s not putting the pieces together of the love i see with the love that can be, i'm lining 'em up again, traveling in ice and greens and old blue jeans to a slambovian circus of dreams.