Aimless through the black and white, among the grainy tops of midnight. Wander through clear cut lines of staunch lit dreams and windless vines. Crawl and stretch toward open whites, blue or hazel of open eyes. Crossing through emboldened text. Reap and sow tears of crying minds. Black and white, back and forth; whose hope is it to read the signs? Among the fields stemming dreams of height, while as to day, they fall to night. Within words so far away only disbelief will fill my fright. Harvested here by those astray, the tree of wisdom, from leaves that fell away.
Who is she and where? His Clementine whispering in his ear. Anytime there's no one near. Who picks flowers for herself, lighting candles for the night. He turns to see her pretty face. Either she is quick to react or, in reality, has no place.
I grow dizzy with all the flames I've burned, with all the times this new leaf has turned. Waste my dreams as morning burns into view, a painful reminder I wake without you. Look over the ocean at all the fish swimming free; a lonely sailor caught by the sea.
Around and around the red blue mind. Thoughts creep and whisper in thin grey lines. Music to ears as silence to sleeping. Deposit in years, a warm heart beating. Ask me now, where I have been. I answer by staring in low dull hymn.
Passed around the campfire, like cold whiskey rye, has long been a story of a river boat on high. A siren on a Saturday in line with a row of smoke. Chugging through the Mississippi where fools rock the boat. Crying, "don't you believe me!" "Well, what's it take?" A half soul and three pence for a jug and icing on the cake. The sirens wailing, said, "come have some fun." Those sailors jumped right in; danced to the sinking sun. Hootin' and hollerin' to the wild wicked moon. As crazed as dog bane, but you'll sure pay soon. Up came the toll - hat passed around. The sailors had nothing, not a soul to be found. That's what yah' get, boys, when you give the devil due, but he's a fair poker; now you'll be too. Folks don't believe me when I tell my wary tale. Those damned rosewater's for a night of glutton and ale. Mark my words clearly, when you see a ship of white turn stern and flee or work the Devil's shift all night.
Feats of my burden feed on desire. All left to leaving where twin peaks aspire. Wind through your day like vines through the grama. Painted in plastic like carving a comma. Dreams left to dreaming never climb higher. That's where I keep them: the subtle belier.
A man who paints memories gave me one to take. Gift wrapped from you it said, "Give your mind a rest and keep your heart awake." I see him paint there still, where the sun stains the forest skin. I will never forget that day - the closest to you I have ever been.