Let's talk about art and cliche, my dear;
small font for the weak of heart.
December's snowflakes are twirling faster,
and it appears the system has fallen apart.
Yes, that was a metaphor;
I'm learning to hate them as much as I love you.
Bright colours swim before my as,
but slowly slip to greys from blue.
Twisters uproot the Christmas trees,
and the words all fall like icicles.
Belief in pretty christmas lights...
they seem to guide lost souls.
Wrapped in a thousand layers of scarves,
jackets, sweaters, and jeans.
Come December, darling,
you'll be too far gone to see what it means.
Just promise that you'll tell me,
how warm burns the January sun?
We walked into a year together,
but prepare to walk out as one.
The sappy thing is, I'm gonna miss you...
I say this (in less than four) months in advance.
Nobody's counting the broken hour glass grains;
Got off track...the winds whistle warm as the snow drifts dance.
To be cliche, just like I said,
at the bottom I'll quote a song.
December's close, my summer girl...
please..prove me wrong.
-----
"I called Jesus but he didn't check his phone today,
Oh oh, there's my summer girl
I've been wanting her
I hear she's got a boyfriend
Thought I could leave her for a season but it just got cold
Yeah, it's a lonely hour in my cellphone tower,
Broken down transmission.
But I'm gonna take you to my boxcar on the beach
And I'm gonna hang the sun above your bed
And soak your hair in bleach
