bakerbilly

Her passions wrote lyrics upon the parchment of her lips, Under the gaze of the scarlet night. I could not hold her there and we felt alone; though we were together. Under the gaze of the scarlet night. The rose is red and the glaze is soft upon the open eye. The poet in the attic - surrounded himself with ghosts and dust coated lies- spins perfumed words in the cold scarlet night. He comes to realise the mystery of fate in the hour of late advance as he comes to recreate the masterpiece of failure; oh too late. A portrait was painted in blood and wine by the hand of a sullen amateur Then burnt in the fire of music In the deep scarlet nigh

I layed her down by the river In the tall grass and dandelions, a whispered voice came to greet me Stay a while Stay a while. We never knew our bodies or where the tide would take us. We never saw destruction We just stayed a while Stay a while A while. In the empty morning we looked around all we saw were the branches. They spoke to us in Esperanto And they said 'stay a while 'Stay a while. She wondered where the moon was as I held it in my palm. It's light glanced off a broken clock and I wondered where the time ran off to. She turned around and said to me under the shading arms;"Will you stay a while? Stay a while, A while. Stay a whil