Wings Like Larvae

spoken softly spoken
standing still standing tall
bright eyes illuminate conversation
your voice leads to connotation

(she cries in a stained glass fashion. glass painted black. we lead our tainted lives, to redeem paradise. well i know your sorry, and im really not. but every tragedy thats in front of me will end with you. but please dont leave. i know its getting late, i know im out of time, and escape is the faith of the weak. so when they cant see their own hands right in front of them, well dance like its the end of the world.)

and i confess
you looked so beautiful when in chrysalis

but your an angel
and your wings will lift our hearts
but my paper wings will only fold paper hearts
so let the wind have them

but they make me sick
they just dont fit you
and even when you epitomize apathy, ill hold you but you wont know me.
so give yourself to the altar
crucified by your deities
(upon this altar laid)
and heaven just never seemed so far away
when you fly with your wings like larvae

(we could be, and were gonna be here for a while now. and time stops when our hands touch and i never meant you to mean so much to me. waking nightmares, singing me to sleep. serenades bring and keep up with midnight or 4 am its all the same, i remember every flash, i swear you mustve hidden something in your laugh. you look so dead in photographs, smiling the moment away. i think of what we lost and how were just that now, think of how well get home before you cry yourself to sleep.)

im thinking today that idealisim never really made much sense,
and sentamentalisim is only feeling sorry for yourself.
so draw your words into my palms
embracing closind minds with open arms
and i wont say nothing, its more dead than calm
and this war
these ideas, the reasons im sentimental
are all tied to the most haunting tranquillity

killing, killing, its killing in the name of symphony.