Walk around the room with a glaze in your stare.

In your tuxedo suit. I will give it a name. Lower

your defenses. Lower your casket. Open the door

and open your grave. Murder. Now you're doing the

waltz with your murderer. Mediocrity is the killer.

You find yourself helpless. Christ is not a fashion,

fleeting away. He laid emeralds in her eyes, but I'd

already tried a bracelt made of gold and a scarlet

thread around her wrist. Everything was wrong so we

sang sentimental songs. "Oh how seldom we belong but

how elegant our kiss." We painted crooked lines but

danced in perfect time to a love so much refined, we

know not what it is until like a dullen wine we pour

into a grief know before but never quite like this.

All i know now is regret, it follows like a silhouette

along the cobbelstone behind me, but has nothing to

say except to innocently ask, its voice delicate as

glass, "Do you see me when we pass?" but i continue on

my way.