Hold yourself in bliss To where you feel so somber Without a cloud, Without a face upon the moon To stare upon, In deepest memory To the things you have dropped. Not bliss For the aching lips, For the twisting hips Breathe forth a kiss Down upon the weathered flesh I have comes to say, is close to death. Wilted, like the petals greeting winter. You seek Not the song From pursed mouth, For it will not display to your uncouth Appearance, the face of two million tears Running down the cheeks, So dismembered from the rest. Get yourself off your chest, Like faith never offered you reward For a token in the blue, For a message in the green, While all we speak of truly gleams Like the wet running waves Over all we've come to save. Nothing has more tension than the mouth Unwilling to sing Forth notes To the awakened skies. All clouds, even those of summer Rain to you, the listless emotions of winter Coming to you, as pain unending.