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