Under the clock's watchful eye,
time has passed by (ever so
successfully) with it's willow thin wrists
wrapped with fine stringed guitar notes.
It's too late to tell you what I meant for you to hear,
(it's been too late for the longest time)
I mean not just today,
there's something I refuse to bury.
You took the train of thought; I thought
I'd left it behind so many years
ago with the ocean and the sand
the scent of salt and how it rusted my very core
into blood red specks that shatter on contact.
One little blue letter is all I ever asked:
Instead you gave me my heart back
twined in knots I can't comprehend.
(The blood runs cold from lack of
circulation.)
Two little looks is all I ever asked:
Perhaps your eyes were too black from pupils to see
anything at all beyond your own
unexpurgated desires.
Three little words were all I ever asked:
Rather than that, you walked away,
dripping unsaid syllables like dirty oil
leaking from the intestines of a dying
tanker.
Under the clock's watchful eye
Time has passed by (ever so
lonely) with it's willow thin wrists
wrapped in thick, sorry notes of the piano.
