• this page was blank
    4 seconds past
    minutes gone
    flying past

    like crazy thoughts
    invade my head
    and clocks run back
    as blood runs not as

    red as youd expect
    but crimson nontheless
    perfection stains perfection
    to create a bloody mess

    and as my head falls fifteen storys
    to the pillow at my feet
    thoughts colide and life devides
    as I fold you at the crease

    if my calloused hands
    could find a way
    to inocence and bliss
    then your freightned figure'd
    fit right in
    its just a swing and a miss
    to the balcony where we can see the origin of sin
    and its pretty i guess
    ya its pretty i guess

    a simple songs
    the one i sing
    about the birds and bees
    and everything

    the job to which
    your fathers wed
    and the drink your mother
    loved instead

    our hands record
    each other line
    as your fingers intertwine
    with mine

    to make a song
    more briliant than
    the acumulation of
    all our plans

    its out of our hands

    but im not that boy
    your not that girl
    this isnt our song
    and this isnt your world

    roses aint red
    and violets aint blue
    my head is empty
    now how bout you

    time she is wasting
    not sure if i care
    falling forever
    lost in your stare

    glad to be there

    baby i swear