[ Featuring My Deer ]
How can I steer misguided eyes
When they see beyond the vine?
How can she whisper in his ear
When she know not what he hear?
In the night, the beholder cries,
Staring blurry-eyed, bright in beauty-light.
If I could, I'd make that deal,
And she'd know the thoughts that held her
When may I find the crystal prose
That will soothe our ills and woes?
When may we break these window panes
And gaze beyond these lonesome planes?
In the brush, feel your fingers touch,
All the leaves, so lush,
Hear their voices hushed.
So the fever begins
When anxious feet flee 'cross the floor,
Never feeling bored.
A favor for this famine,
Where nervous minds find for themselves
Hopeless thoughts to dispel.
'Til we reveal what's within
Impressions left out in the sun
Where they fade, undone.
'Til we reveal what's within
Impressions left out in the sun,
Left to writhe in the sun.
In the sun.
If I could, I'd make that deal
And she'd know the thoughts that held her.
