Lather

With weathered wings and broken feet
you crawl to me still incomplete.
I close the drapes and put out the light,
only the moon will witness your plight.
I hope that you're as happy
as you pretend to be,
so you can lather your hands in fortune
and finally, finally leave.

Sing to the suicide birds
free from their cage,
and know that all scars
in time will fade.
Time is a harsh mistress
to which we all concede to.
You lay claim to an empire now,
and I wish I could believe you.

Wings of a Dove

Would it be alright

to gamble with you tonight?

There’s nothing below hopeless

and we’ve got nowhere to go.

The stars never beam

without making me dream.

It’s the season to pack it all in

and again time to begin;

I’m breaking at the seams

and at my wits end.

Never mind the neverminds,

and free fall into sweet oblivion.

Capture the hearts of millions,

then give it away to anyone.

I can’t catch every one of your tears

or I’d place them in a box,

ship it away to Jupiter

until all your sadness is lost.

I’d be your midnight angel

a guardian in thin disguise.

Just as frail as the wings of a dove,

there’s fate still shimmering in your eyes.