Thank you Raven, I know I write sort of abstract so when someone tells me my song makes perfect sense it is one of the best compliments you can give me.
Here's the next on the album... I didn't know it was when I wrote it but it has become a very personal song. It is untitled as well but for now we'll call it:
The Artist and the Musician
Before she had a name,
she had sculpted her face
to not look quite the same
as the children who lay quiet,
their eyes sewn with lace
As a boy he was bald
his hair strung on his guitar
that he played for the stars
he followed as he roamed
his feet moving to the metronomes
in his fingers
she molded her brain
from her dead mother's clay
covered in ink blot stains
that form pictures of all she thinks
for her to display
he plays the music he loves
and he loves all that he hears
his brain is covered in ears,
that transmit radio waves
and send them coursing through the veins
of his soul
They met in a house of tin
and she painted his skin
while he taught her a hymn
they don't sing in church
and he showed her the pencil in this throat,
and she took it and drew a boat,
that they sailed across the moat
of the castle they both knew was home
And now his music fills the walls
and her art hangs in bathroom stalls
as they paint their bodies over
and dance to the voice of the other
and he loves her,
so she lends him her hair
and he strings them
with the care he gives to his mother,
and she loves him
so he sings her the hymn
and she paints it,
and it forms the shape of her lover
|