A rising tide spent drowning in days lost to one heart`s final lament. Thrown off like grins known only to the dead. Plastered behind scarlet eyes - Scarlet eyes! Plastered behind scarlet eyes, stinking of tomorrow. I say that once a letter is written. it`s not so easily sent. Like trying to find 2 of 3, but settling for one of me instead.
It`s a hard faith to follow: the constant give without the take; after the scraping through it`s one less heart to break. A head above water for the eyes held under a lasting plea for the lost mind torn asunder Nothing but fair trades and farewells, when the present tense reveals a sixth sense, when you`d die for a word or one less empty shell.
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