Eyes are glued on a clock that has stopped
With hopes that are long since dead, Remembering feelings that once had been dropped
A stomach of acid, a heart made of lead
So softly she wishes to be perfect once more To be the apple of anyones eye
But the sad little angel is just drunk on the floor
With a head filled with booze in the sky
Smoke curls and whirls from her soft, tender lips Her movements are swayed like swans
Tenderly she slips back from the bottle she sips
Crusty eyes wait for the glorious dawn.
Morning glories welcome the sun to her face And the ash from her light runs off
A gentle breeze blowing, with fingers that trace
The lines in her hair, ever so soft.
Eyes are red, so swollen with wasteful tears Yet no drop shall leave those corners
Forgetful of all that beloved holds dear The dead leaves are the only mourners.
That poor little devil of an angel looks up A face towards the dwindling stars
Forgetful hands cause a slight crack in the cup
But brought back by the sounds of cars
Yet again she smiles an unwilling grin Her thoughts drifting away from that clock
I suppose it was time to let go of him
And leave the crumbling rock
Promises raised her this far and now There's always a tomorrow comming
This angel supposes she'll get through some how
But always, this constant running.
Night is a-commin' like it always does for her And the air starts to fill with that ash
Time for those vampires to wake and stir And the fires in the sky to flash.
Walking, Walking likes she always does Her box of twenty almost spent
Yet still she waits for the oncomming buzz
That dreamy feeling her 20 always sent
Yet nothing appears to drown out his face So she buys her box of twenty again
And finally she hides him behind the smokey lace
Burning the letters of love he sends.
Laughing, oh yes, that dreadful sounding crackle
Of crumpling all those memories up
Finally beating those unbreakable shackles
And drowning out regrets in my cup.
Play on, my musician, keep playing that song I see the look in your eyes
How I promise to you that its not wrong
To wish at the empty skies.
Eventually its over and done with for all of us here
This pain that the unfaithful leave
Then I suppose we'll feel a happy so sheer
It'll be such an impossible task, to grieve
Until that fortunate, and hopefully comming time I'll keep kissing my cups of burning moons
I'm still waiting for all sense to, again rhyme
Caught in the haze of cigarette filled gloom

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