"Behind the crimson door..."
"Heaven's ablaze in our eyes...
We're standing still in time;
The blood on our hands is the wine
We offer as sacrifice...
Come on and show them your love --
Rip out the wings of a butterfly...
For your soul, my love --
Rip out the wings of a butterfly...
For your soul...
This endless mercy mile,
We're crawling side by side;
With hell freezing over in our eyes,
Gods kneel before our crime...
Come on and show them your love --
Rip out the wings of a butterfly...
For your soul, my love --
Rip out the wings of a butterfly..."
Enthralled and trampled and ground-stapled guilt-stricken sobbing with my head on the floor. Nothingevenmatters any-any-anymore. Where did everybody go...? I need them now to save me. I need you now to save me. Save me.
"Save her, precious, before the spade eats her."
Oh, never mind.
"Covered the carcass of time with flowers
To send the scent of blame to the grave;
Set the darkest thoughts on fire
And watched the ashes climb to Heaven's gates...
We hide behind the crimson door
While the summer is killed by the fall...
Alive behind the crimson door
While the winter sings, "your love will be the death of me."
Death served wine for lovers
Brought from the world where devils reign,
And intoxicated angels with sorrow
They witnessed in the eyes of their slaves..."
Look what I found. No music for the words yet but I'll have to wait another month and a half before my curiosity is quelled. Isn't it beautiful? Singing about fire and wine and slaves while I counteract the vine-feelings with water and--LORD, never mind. I go on and on but no one's around to listen...not like it's essential that they do, or that I clamor for such attention because everyone knows this silly little facade is something not one exhalation could possibly adore. Love. What? No. It cuts me up and makes me weep and forces itself on me like "clung to tear-spiked lashes." I should really stop. Stop. Make the beating pulsations
pulsations
pulsations
Stop.
I need you now to save me...
We're standing still in time;
The blood on our hands is the wine
We offer as sacrifice...
Come on and show them your love --
Rip out the wings of a butterfly...
For your soul, my love --
Rip out the wings of a butterfly...
For your soul...
This endless mercy mile,
We're crawling side by side;
With hell freezing over in our eyes,
Gods kneel before our crime...
Come on and show them your love --
Rip out the wings of a butterfly...
For your soul, my love --
Rip out the wings of a butterfly..."
Enthralled and trampled and ground-stapled guilt-stricken sobbing with my head on the floor. Nothingevenmatters any-any-anymore. Where did everybody go...? I need them now to save me. I need you now to save me. Save me.
"Save her, precious, before the spade eats her."
Oh, never mind.
"Covered the carcass of time with flowers
To send the scent of blame to the grave;
Set the darkest thoughts on fire
And watched the ashes climb to Heaven's gates...
We hide behind the crimson door
While the summer is killed by the fall...
Alive behind the crimson door
While the winter sings, "your love will be the death of me."
Death served wine for lovers
Brought from the world where devils reign,
And intoxicated angels with sorrow
They witnessed in the eyes of their slaves..."
Look what I found. No music for the words yet but I'll have to wait another month and a half before my curiosity is quelled. Isn't it beautiful? Singing about fire and wine and slaves while I counteract the vine-feelings with water and--LORD, never mind. I go on and on but no one's around to listen...not like it's essential that they do, or that I clamor for such attention because everyone knows this silly little facade is something not one exhalation could possibly adore. Love. What? No. It cuts me up and makes me weep and forces itself on me like "clung to tear-spiked lashes." I should really stop. Stop. Make the beating pulsations
pulsations
pulsations
Stop.
I need you now to save me...
posted by Ophelia at 11:27 AM
3 Comments:
*jumps in the ocean after you*
oh wait...I can't swim. Nuts
Oh well, I didn't want to live past 24 anyway.
^_^
Matt
Death is more universal than life; everyone dies but not everyone lives.
Amazing isn't it? No wonder everyone is afraid of death.. In joy and sorrow.. yeah.
- the Nolan, saintly dark.
"If a tree falls in the forest..."
Someone will hear this tree fall because there will always be someone protecting it. Hopefully this tree will fall when its time is due and no sooner.
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