By the light of the crescent moon
That is how this never ending story dies
Drowning in faded words
Alibis buried six feet under ground in the sand
That fester and rot into oblivion
Some fantasies are too real to come true
Mountains loom too high in the distance
To climb for love
Battles fought and remembered last
In treasured illusions and memories
That pass with the Winter winds
Unused ornaments
There is no last dance
No saving grace
The rhythm is gone
Only the rhyme
Remains.
No comments:
Post a Comment