Your Future SutureRest uneasy for we are with you,
A simple secret for the way we move.
A sweeping moment from rough to smooth,
Your life is over, your heart will lose.
Keep one eye open for that shining light,
In the dark, cause we own the fucking night.
Trust for mercy to not be found,
Your lust and shallow blood will coat the ground.
Keep in mind what you did to me,
A good enough reason for what you see.
You said you'd never leave,
I guess promises don't mean shit to thieves.
I remember the flavour of your skin,
Even better with a hint of revenge.
I hope you're ready,
For the end.
Fibonacci's Got Nothing On MeSitting in her pocket was the locket that he left,
Repeating his last words before he parted nest,
"Wait for me at the end of the pier,
"As the sun comes down I'll return by the year."
Each day that she waited at the end of the plank,
Was her catalyst for the ends of which she'd think,
And the tomb in which she'd lay them rest,
It had been too long since his last caress.
So she set her careful plan down in stone,
With a helping hand while he wasn't home.
Gathered her feathered dreams from the abandoned market,
Put them with his emptied promises in the little golden locket,
Found the oldest bottle of brandy-wine and popped it,
Then stuffed the hope inside and dropped it down like a rock had hit,
Her between the eyes when she stopped to realize,
That all of his love, that he sent from the sea, was a lie.
As the excuses bobbed like a fish in the salt,
She walked back to her cabin, so sure that he'd been caught,
Took her answers from atop the shelves,
Put them in the solution for health,
A Lesson That's Taught...If your dream is but the thread for the seam,
A means to believe in what needs to be seen,
Celebrate your new found theme with a lust for the Beetle King.
Adorn your skin with the flashing greed of all the men,
Wishing to know you, but never befriend.
Yours is the seed of the free roaming cattle feed,
A labour more sweet than any of her finest tweed,
Don't achieve to kneed your dough into the flow of the scene of the summer's eve,
Prepare your deed to be traded for more than a shining key in the lock of a door.
A man ignored taught how an open door like yours could be used for so much more.
Pick a flower off the ground and pluck her answers 'til yours is found,
The others watch and frown as you toss her frailness to the ground.
Your answer is no longer then, but now,
If you believe that kind of story, read but beat on the dead in the quarry of your home town.
I believe in the keys that are given by the trees of the Lebanese,
Never too trusting to throw away what others are rushing.
A Message From Time...Open mouths spill little towns
Speaking rotten chords with broken sounds
Float through crimson skies on how's and why's
Conjure ancient secrets to keep them wise
A little fox with little button eyes
Will sit you down and tell you stories and lies
A squat tree stump will be a perfect spot
To sit and listen as the fever's taught
A word or two spun from lighted string
With a pinch of love and everything
Fastened round an old oak tree
And thrown into the turning sea
Cast away only to be found again
At his place in the forest just in time for time to begin
The world will grow
And the world will sew
The hardships of life in his barks will show
Permanently written across his bough
A message sent from then to now
n'oubliez vous pasButtoned down pea coats on a swarming winter's night
Don't forget my hand in yours, held in tight
Sing a slow song to keep the shadows away
They'll ruin something special in every word you say
Let me hold your breath as your eyes fade to grey
While you toil with spools of bright coloured lights
To distract my mind from what's tied to our kite
My love is strung on fast as I start to lose sight
And I whisper a wish for wishful thinking's sake
That my heart is enough for someone to want to take
And then I whistle your life back into your lungs
As we start back walking, singing our slow songs