Monday, June 15, 2009

every song starts somewhere

its plane as day
on stark white sheets
we're made of the clay
that clothes our feet

planting hopes
and planting seeds
our hopes will grow
into all things green.

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the day and the night are actually lovers
they meet in the morning when we're under covers
and they meet at the end of they day
when our ambitions and motives are melting away
we watch them.
in their pretty golden hues
of secret rendezvous

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