The mourning fades
with slits from razorblades
coming on from the torn apart
Beauty she cries
weeping beneath these skies
with a bullet lodged in her heart
The mourning fades
with slits from razorblades
coming on from the torn apart
Beauty she cries
weeping beneath these skies
with a bullet lodged in her heart
She whispers in sigh
Asking, “why must it die?”
The great answers are never clear
Trying hard to hold
but she just grows cold
she knows, nothing grows out here
Now, in this season
of rhymes without reason
in the belly of this radiant beast
as we eat of the rain
just to touch on our pain
upon the greatest burden we feast
So, what is to feel?
If we never seem to heal
is there anyone that surely knows?
Where winds are blown
in wonderment of unknown
I say this, out here nothing grows