Angel wings and feather dusters,
history homework's sweet demise.
Suburbia screams like insanity
from behind placid dreamer-eyes.
The moon, she rises high at night;
sits sorta fat on the horizon, still.
To make this scene, we must have what we have not..
so cries the nightengale's lovely trill.
Every ageless night comes dragging,
and dawn follows like an innocent song.
The monsters fade with morning, darling..
just as our innocence fades with our wrongs.
Quiet confessions in New York City,
the world rushing too fast to lend an ear.
Stuck in an Albuquerque mesa,
big city life's just say and hear.
Can you hear the reasoning
that lives behind some typed out words?
Angel wings flutter down behind the wash,
as we age, they hold no more magic than the birds.
