Clean the Table
Are these scars meant to be mine?This line of yours, is not my sign.This face not mirroring the life I claim.Won’t need to walk your path.Don‘t draw it in my time.
Clean the table,sort the mess.Hand to hand, don’t stain your dress.Broken glass and balanced weight.Your eyes will see the choice of fate.
Toys remain where stillness sleeps.In the attics of our dreams.Sold and lost and left behind,embraced by shadows;at the backdoor of my mind.
Clean the table, sort the mess.Hand to hand, don’t stain your dress.Broken glass and balanced weight.Your eyes will see the choice of fate.
Walk away, let him behind.Don’t be as tall and dark, but find:The brightest stars you’ll ever see!Once fainted now as white as light.Your gift from darkness,hidden in plain sight.
Clean the table, sort the mess.Hand to hand, don’t stain your dress.Broken glass and balanced weight.Your eyes will see the choice of fate.
Broken glass and balanced weight.Your heart will see the choice of fate.