If our words came to life
We would string them up like lights
Overhead, of our bed,
To cure the nagging sense of dread
If our wrongs turned to rights
We would build a holy shrine
For the games that we play
Ceremonious and staid
I love the doors that lead to corners of your mind
I love the citronella bonfire in your eyes
(In your eyes) a ballet,
The Balanchine serenade
Til they roll back inside
Protect a fleeting sense of pride
If our souls turn away
And it’s us that they betray
May they find what they seek
In all the trails of fever dreams
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