Nothing But A Mo(U) Rning Rush
just in case a poet runs out of weapons,
neither he or she can be lethal.
like a shooting star casting away from the moon,
neither these two things are dead brutal.
for the past month, I have
burried my thoughts down in the deepest trance,
to be stuck in solace and to be rampant,
what's there to do but glance,
at these painstakingly steps you've taken
for the past month.
i am starting to regress, in the happiest depression i've ever been.
I'm ironic, a cheat,
I am the biggest sin.
baby, you should lock your door,
I'm coming in, and settling the score.
telling you that I'm no liar,
we can count sheep and sleep
next to the bonfire.
it's these things that are alive,
a true romantic like me, you know?
but chivalry is dead now,
I hope not to see you in the morrow.
the sun has given up on the world,
being disappointed in everything he's done.
at the pinnacle of failure, the apex of love,
all we could do now is run...
Sleep, Amy, sleep.
we're the baddest soldiers there are.
we're just like painters,
who fell in love with the stars.
we need to find our way,
to the coffee shop, on the corner of 42nd Avenue.
'this highway leads to nowhere', they say.
but it lead me straight to you.
just in case poets dropp their weapons,
i'll call a truce on the world.
i'll sing a lullaby, and i'll tell you
'Babe... this is how i get by'
I've began to regress in the happiest depression i've been
I'm a cheater, and you're the biggest sin.
I say, just in case poets like us lose words,
grasp the stars with their midnight chimes.
I'll be waiting at the coffee shop,
Amy, lets take it one step at a time.
Saturday, December 6, 2008