Sunday, September 28, 2008

Turn Tables

Dry your eyes you suffocated sky, I'm alone and seeing Portland again.
Try on your dreams stuck in cold wet jeans, and a pair of left handed scissors.
See if you can find a way between old and new, then cut me out in paper along that dotted line.

Baby baby, now tell me it's just the times, not the season or their clementine smiles.
You know I can't sleep without that flickering light, a bottle of breathing wine, and our legs intertwined.
Not lovers, not friends, just thread the needle and make a mends with me under your covers.

And then I'll teach you all my slang, and for me you'll prescribe an arduous wait.
Oh, it's more than crystal now to me, it took a patient, blind man's touch for you to see?
The sooner you sleep, the darker you'll feel the sun shift the laments with your heart at my feet.

So, come along this ride, and leave your church mouth behind.
Control the war, silent suicide, as it sits at the tip of your tongue.
It's not a matter of collecting likes, just the bleeding barrier of misunderstanding love.