See my face, baby,
my eyes are on you.
Nobody else, just a dream,
a dream of things of love.
It sets aglow the warm May sun,
onto the things we do of love.
Are we committed, are we apart,
it's hard to tell anymore, right?
Departure, nine-thirty p.m.,
leave the scene, and meet later.
Heat and tongue collide,
a few dim hours slush by.
The finger is the storyteller,
caves of the catacombs.
Screwdriver, drill, jack hammer,
all cause a parade of sounds.
The dim hours start to speed up,
into quick seconds.
And the dark, lonely eyes are fired up,
as the night becomes bright.
Four a.m., departure once more,
the effect of our night by sweat.
The grave of a deafening heart beat,
has been ripped apart and created a vision.
Together, someday, it could be possible,
the miracle stands and waits its turn.
Whatever may be will come,
whatever will not is fine.
The sweet smell of the wand,
is faint, which makes it so sweet.
Be disgusted if you will,
I hope your heart may wonder towards me.