And it might blow up but it won’t go pop, And it might blow up but it won’t burst, She said she might grow old but she won’t grow up, Well she might, but only if I go first, She wears her heart on her sleeve like; she’s wearing a patch on her shoulder, It’s not a matter of whether I can catch her, more a matter of whether I can hold her, She thinks out loud she’s got me; she laughs with her whole body, I think about how she got it all figured out and wonder why she’d even want me? Each night I find it’s the same ole, when I crawl inside in the evening, I lie down next to an angel; fall asleep and fly with my demons, They say don’t live in the past and live each day like it was your last but, I’d rather live each moment like it was my first, take it slow and sip from the glass, Savour the moment, spit vicious bars then pray for opponents, Sounds so serious don’t it? But I’m not concerned with a thing, This is book three, Tolkien, Return of the King, The kings have arrived; we drink from the sky, We fall from all ‘cause we think we can fly, But our wings have been tied, and the winging and lies, Have me I’m wishing that I could bridge the divide, You living the life? In the blink of an eye The shine of the bling and the rims that you ride, Can all disappear so live for the rhyme, Not material things your gift can provide
Posted on: Wed, 01 Oct 2014 17:52:25 +0000