These days:
Lifted from shade to cover the stain
Wool gray buttons and will
To hover in place
Bat it from my lashes
Itch it from my neck
The necklace tonight still catches light
For good am i so destined
To fall into your comb?
Fall into your coma?
These days:
Put you in shape, don’t even need to try
When i make time
I don’t make time
I showed up with no warning
Like your breath different in the morning
Or how can i despise what’s my own design?
