I'd like to go like this,
1000 colors, spread across my sight,
diffused through the lenses of a swallowed sea
and I'd like to walk that way,
weightless across a golden hill,
finding a spot to sink in and stay
but I'd rather live like this,
perched on the edge of one last precipice
not knowing which way the wind will blow
because we always fall in love in the mornings,
knowing that the sunset will temper the flame
fight close to d**h every night,
the stench of our bodies versus the breadth of our names
I wrote you a letter,
but the bottle broke before I made to the shore,
and I threw it in anyway
I watched the ink run from the page,
and it seemed better than anything I could say
I spent last year watching the seagulls
play limbo with the drawbridge
and I wondered how low could I go,
before jumping this dream
And if I must slash my tongue,
for every forgotten friend left in this town,
I fear the razors would bend
from the weight of that memory
Because down here, the ice-bergs stay sharp,
just below the surface, 1000 red herrings with sandpaper eyes
are eyeing that prize.
I wrote you a letter,
but the bottle broke before I made to the shore,
and I threw it in anyway
I watched the ink run from the page,
and it seemed better than anything I could say
I spent last year watching the seagulls
play limbo with the drawbridge
and I wondered how low could I go,
before jumping this dream