Poor Little Rich Boy
the heart it grips can only breathe when you're hand is pressed against its place
And the wind changes courses because the soft look you gave sounded sweet in its ears.
With all the blades of grass in a spring garden I love you.
And the flute plucks out the scent of lilac and pomegranite and things that don't happen do
And its love
And it exists on the breeze
of a silent autumn morning where the soft soft sounds of the silken sheets are pulled back to reveal
the bittersweet sin of tomorrow.
laying down upon a carefully concealed truth and what it brings is a lie
straying from the white rock path of a vow made to last another day to
the sharp sticks inside the monster's mouth.
its reaking breath and gray eyes covered by the scent of a thousand candles.
Poor Little Rich Boy
couldn't tell the same from the different
And the love from the hate
POOR LITTLE RICH BOY
never loved another and poor little rich boy could never run from cover from covered the run with wilted roses and empty bottles of dusty thoughts
But he swore he loved her but he didn't and wished he loved her more
He wished to be loved but to recieve it
And the monster practiced its tap dance on the graves of those it filled with false love and the promise of a good time
Slaughtered by the sound hs own pattering heart beat the poor little rich boy led way to the yellow papered notes and ink stains brought by long nights and the exausted lips of dreams
And he loved but never loved to love.