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.