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The For Carnation
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Moonbeams
Scatter the roots of our passage tonight
discard the memories we chose to survive
all of our senses overshadowed by a song
pining for strength and deprive from the strong.
When she was five years old there's cake and brightlights
and when she was ten she became the maid's bride
with temperance and beauty and salvation unknown
a life isolated, heinous and young.
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Stand up and face it although you're half dead
try to remember though they've taken your head
why we sleep fully dressed and rise only from bed
who did this to us? who did this to us.?
So partial to memory the pearls of our dead
but where do we keep them? put'em here by the steps
while i climb to the top and i find where i am.
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