Awaiting your input, and I'm dancing circles outside the lines, its almost like 3rd grade all over again and your chasing them through the woods of lolly colored trees, yet their growth has undergone evolution turning tree tops to glass bottles of all sorts and you know its not the macerena they got blasting through the radio, green leaves take on new meaning, bruises taint more than the skin and they are out there, somewhere, lost in the dark with boys, blanketed under the comfort of the unknown and doves will appear and linger for only a moment, what has come of the evermore my dear, its floating ships abandoned at sea, yet no one turning up at the shore just like empty beds on Saturday mornings, and numb faces answering doors shattering the meaning of baby blues, baby faces of 3rd graders with missing teeth flash by on speeding trains for the very last time.
