Peace be what keeps you dead.
Beneath these roots is a land of bone.
Desolate, lost, and never known.
Blossom buried herself in search for earth and church.
A place called heavenly home.
Sweet innocent flower, dont you know?
You're dead to them.
You're dead to thee.
You've been dead for about a century.
You killed yourself that night you thought it be better if you bloomed alone.
What did you think would happen in alley of the shadow of death?
You feared it. You wanted it.
You let it rip you too pieces and now your soul is scattered across the graveyard.
Rest now.
Chaos be what kept you searching.
Pain be what left you dead.
Peace be what keeps you dead.
My beautiful little flower.

Truth be told
I'd bet my soul.
I only get lonely in the mornings.
The cold breeds empty amidst the white light of the morning sun.
A good morning blue bird colors the hazey sky.
As the sunrise of solitude fills the air I ponder my soul.
I'd sell my soul if it turned back time to the place of orange sight.
A place in time before the silent night
To the place that lives in sets.
Where the sun waves goodbye and enters a full evening sky.
You are my only sunset.
I feel full at the peak of sunset.

-2.00 +1.50 x 180
I barely see
Through squinty eyes is a love that looks like Paris.
Paris shifts and shakes until out of the cracks a pair of lost eye glasses are found.
I see what you've been searching for.
A love that feels like Paris.
Congruence in the vision.
Discrepancy in reality.
What is Paris really like this time of year?
Can you hear it sparkle? Does it sing?
Tell me do you hear the strange songs?
Is it riots?
Riot chants fill the streets to which we must all sing along.
If I dare tell you I love you like paris nights
Move, oh move along.
If you dare love me like Paris songs
I'll be destroyed by daylight.
Paris nights,
in the name of good faith and a romantic stroll,
beautiful and strong.
The mist is married to ashes.
Dont fall in love with ideas you'll end up like riots on a Paris morning.
I dont speak the language so tell me what these words mean because I've felt them all along.
Je t'aime **** de cette ville.