July 19th, 2007

Calculate Precipitate 

There's something to be said about, 
the way some days words just run out. 
Then he tilts his head to face me when he has nothing left to think.
He said "there's something to be said about, 
the way you make me melt throughout.
You turn your head to face me, now there's nothing left to think"
Then I shudder.
And I stutter. Stomach Flutters. Words are muttered.
And yet silence still rings clear, rings in my ear, clear in my ear. Ring Ring.

There's something to be said all right, 
I wake up sweating in his arms at night. 
His eyes were pale, lifeless, deep, what more is there to dream?
I HEARD "there's something to be said, you're right, 
a smile will help me sleep tonight.
Your eyes are like a sunset, so what more am I to dream? 
Then I stagger.
And I stumble. Stomach rumbles. Words are mumbled.
And a pattern is mapped out, mapped in my doubt, out in my doubt. Out Out!

There's something to be thought or felt, 
that's rarely ever about how you melt, 
but more to do with comfort that I hadn't seen in years. 
He said "there's something, always, to be felt, 
your words, a touch, a moment dealt, 
but it's more to do with comfort in which I think that you deserve."

In that, I don't think I deserve