In what smile am I supposed to supress?
do the tears of joy call out as perfect as they form?
how can my mind and memories of only youth discover
what mysteries are found in the gentle sway of a cold wind summer.
You may call out all your fears and wish them away
but it's what we fail to see and shout out that we seek as dangerous
and I fear for the knowledge I have yet to know.
And I mourn for those with such soft kindness
who's lives were short and sweet
and whose only luxuries were honest and seemingly pittyful,
looked down upon by the upper classes who killed their beautiful souls.
In which land is it so different to behold any love that stops burning
like the fires that have killed so many
and the factory weapons of mankind
that throw our dignity into the morbid flowers of this earth.
What sways in the gentle breeze is what stands still without influence
what is a sound that hears only noise and no concept
so that our hearts deny us what we see as fair.
But fair is not perfection like the lust we seek in our being
and only true happiness is that of love
that ends so tragically
and yet we pour our lifes gratitude into it so mercifully.
Untill we burn out and become only memories
untill there is no physical grasp
of natures kindness
and mans blindness
do the tears of joy call out as perfect as they form?
how can my mind and memories of only youth discover
what mysteries are found in the gentle sway of a cold wind summer.
You may call out all your fears and wish them away
but it's what we fail to see and shout out that we seek as dangerous
and I fear for the knowledge I have yet to know.
And I mourn for those with such soft kindness
who's lives were short and sweet
and whose only luxuries were honest and seemingly pittyful,
looked down upon by the upper classes who killed their beautiful souls.
In which land is it so different to behold any love that stops burning
like the fires that have killed so many
and the factory weapons of mankind
that throw our dignity into the morbid flowers of this earth.
What sways in the gentle breeze is what stands still without influence
what is a sound that hears only noise and no concept
so that our hearts deny us what we see as fair.
But fair is not perfection like the lust we seek in our being
and only true happiness is that of love
that ends so tragically
and yet we pour our lifes gratitude into it so mercifully.
Untill we burn out and become only memories
untill there is no physical grasp
of natures kindness
and mans blindness
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