Garden

All hearts tender
sadly still do break.
I'm a swallow gliding,
my heart's a black parade.

We're all slaves to the experience
until we reclaim our bones.
My reputation's already shot,
being in love's like coming home.
We'll be mockingbirds
kept to a gilded cage,
struggling with our bound wings
as we plan our genius escape.
Let's conspire to spark the fire;
and burn everything but sheet music.
Night will come to replace the sun
the poison's harmless if you refuse it.

An escape and a fire
triggered by desire,
let's pull off the gloves and go.
I crawl to you as roses turn blue,
a prolific garden starts to grow.