It is that My eyes have only ever cried For you Under the haze of a dying sun's Weathering flame. The sadness Will show me gladness, Will lead me straight Into your fragile hold That I can match myself. We are two broken figures Finding balance With our feet upon the snow. We are cripples learning to walk, Guiding ourselves by our blind eyes, Leading off the cliffs. To where Should we shove fire? Love is made of two feet Stood upon a hardened base, Yet, to coldness, To oldness, Our lives can die, With the other wondering why. Our arms Are made of glass, Streaming blood, when broken, When cutting the skin, When they embrace To offer that red warmth, That comfort Needed.