These skies are for writing on when you are far from home.
And your words are an open fire when I am all alone.
A change of the heart a change of the oil as we squeeze on the chambers and lay down the soil for the blood and the bones and the blinded affections. And the scars sit alone as a constant reflection. And our lives are a dead star, we're dead already. We are memories to be made. Please, will you die with me? I tourniquet my veins for one last look into those eyes that some god made. I've stopped breathing and I'm hearing your pleas. Don't cry lover I'm a few steps behind you just turn around. There's a spot in the garden under an ivy wall thats where my bones wait rested and comfortable.
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