My hands have been holding,
what I am reporting to be...

Like a trophy held up high,
he holds you before our eyes...

Gentle whisps of elegant despair,
hidden like locks of broken tots...

"Ever since I left,
I've felt a little sad...

Cloaked figures play
children hide in alley ways...

Shes that Girl,
Yes Shes that One...

Four foot five; a specimen,
always accompanied by the darting eye...

Lines of error, red and blue,
marked and lined...

No one notices...
---The song inside my soul...

On a pedestal that outlooks the sea,
visions of a milky clear lake ween...

Tears don't come like they use to.
They use to flow in rivers...

I wish I knew the doorman,
always standing in the sand...