Walk around the room with a glaze in your stare.
In your tuxedo suit.
I will give it a name.
Lower your defenses.
Lower your casket.
Open the door and open your grave.
Murder.
Now you're doing the waltz with your murderer.
Mediocrity is the killer.
You find yourself helpless.
Christ is not a fashion, fleeting away.
He laid emeralds in her eyes,
Oh, but I'd already tried
a bracelt made of gold and a scarlet thread around her wrist. Everything was wrong
so we sang sentimental songs.
"Oh how seldom we belong but how elegant our kiss."
We painted crooked lines
but danced in perfect time to a love so much refined,
we know not what it is until like a dullen wine we pour
into a grief know before but never quite like this.
Never quite like this
All i know now is regret,
it follows like a silhouette
along the cobbelstone behind me,
but has nothing to say except to innocently ask,
its voice delicate as glass,
"Do you see me when we pass?"
but i continue on my way.
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