She's out and back. She's looking for the matches. We built our own logic. And now we scatter it's ashes. We dropped a feather from the eighty-first floor.
Domestic bliss and trapdoors. Where have I been. A step from this falling elevator. This speeding train. Crawling down the freeway. Just to start. To start it all over again.
A servant to no sweet heart of convenience.. No colour of love saw its emotion as evidence.. This transaction doesn't tear my soul apart,. Just burn a hole in my pocket but not in my heart..
Don't listen too hard to the beating of your wings. Or you might fall. You only do what you do 'cause a part of you believes. That you're here at all.
maybe maybe nothing could prepare you. but that something and that someday always comes. and the only thing around worth hanging onto. is a love of twisted symmetry demanding it be done.