zebrasindenver

Easter is in the oven,

Sunday is in my glass,

and you are sitting on the couch,

far away, but just close enough.

Wine, and we shall eat.

Spring smells like shit in this dirty fucking town,

This dirty town springs to life from shit,

Shit this town is living dirt.

Shit town lives.

Shit.

I scream at the light and kick at the wind,

I need my heart back or a new one.

Give me your tears as i need to wash off this anger, and the taps have been soldered shut.

Old wine will keep us at bay,

Me, my heart and your hopes.

I will wait on my wooden throne,

my glass will be full and dark.

For one hour you will come,

and we can be full.

And tomorrow, i will leave you.

Alone.

And here it is this violent wind,

 knocking at my door again,

bringing you and your person,

your bags of hopelessness left at the door as you walk so slowly in.

Fall into my arms, and out of your own heart,

you are a mess and i am barely able to string myself together,

 for just a month has past without a word on your behalf.

But the flowers are beginning to grow,

and tomorrow is spring.