Thursday, September 18, 2008

And the chorus goes

And the chorus goes

a sound like wilted roses
their petals colored shale oil
with buds of crimson silk
stems bent with concentration
and roots tiny tentacles
searching deeper and deeper

and the chorus goes

It doesn't mean a thing to me
It doesn't mean a thing to me
And it's about time you see
Things ain't like they used to be

remembrance and regret sharpened razor blades
carving grand canyons into hollow veins
where once mighty tides ebbed and flowed
now a tendril stream gasping hard
frail, vulnerable to sun and dam
growing shallow and insecure

and the chorus goes

It doesn't mean a thing to me
It doesn't mean a thing to me
And it's about time you see
Things ain't like they used to be

Posted by Erik @ 9/18/2008 09:03:00 PM