winters worn out / where we rest in our shoes
picture perfect, perfect you
i must confess these lyrics in my head
were worth much less the sky was dead

the globe of passion sorrows weep
the cost collision mustard seed
fever blister carbonated dance
every whisper, for every chance.

seasons end and now we face.
the fish who swim and set the pace.
if sleep were truth and truths defense.
what stock we photograph again.