Conducting hot hands to rip through blades of flowing grass
Oh, the irony that makes us this crass
The milky silhouettes of those you hold dear
Spill onto the ashes and drift into the atmosphere
Dear, don't cry over spilled milk
And don't ever wipe your empty and broken eyes with some fancy silk
For the world will begin and end with your eyes still seeking cover
While the lies you allow and the truths you don't seek will covet your lover.
It is true that the evergreens never  sleep in the blankets of Christmas dreams
And the melting caramel from a caramel apple always lives up to its screams
The gentle flute composes an echoing whisper that tells nature of its bitter honey
As the bare window to one's soul exchanges with its guards some sweet words and some hush money
Merciless winds of corruption and lust shove through closed doors cloaked in black and seemingly innocent friends with empty smiles
This is the story of my heart-breaking and gruesome trials