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The poems strewn across the floor; they're out of tune with every chord. |
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And one reads 'lay down inside this open heart.' |
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And where's this heart of which it speaks? |
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It must be soaring skies revealed. |
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For it's been fooled for the last time, or so it would seem. |
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And I can't lay down inside this open heart. |
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With these crazed eyes of aftermath. |
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Tell me what happens when the planets align? |
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Will torrids skies collapse our hearts? |
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Will jealous moons come crashing down into the ocean floor? |
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For it's been fooled for the last time, or so it would seem |
