It's been another week of pulling hazards
I only wake with thoughts concerning you.
Among them scattered many slimming glass shards
I wonder where's the window you look through.
My tear stained paper leaves it hard required
a torn up page is sure to feel the same.
It's been a month since touching lava's fire
these pictures of you still refuse to change.
I'd rather have this set be left unfinished
so I could spend my time to write for you.
So when I find my hope has been diminished
I know your dreaming voice will reach me soon.
The tears are cold when falling on my hands,
but power's for you as your flower spans.
