(A poem, kinda - more like lyrics. It would be a song if I could write music)
Take this place in which
we exist, but fear living.
Call it anything but beautiful.
The sun will rise and set.
The trees absorb your carbon
whether or not they want to.
There's oxygen enough to breathe
on cloudy days, it's far enough
from the smoggy streets of LA.
There's a sharp contrast
between the bullet casings
and the spread of our silk sheets.
I can trace the metal line from
your hand to your heart.
Pull the trigger and we'll dance
pull the trigger and we'll dance
pull the trigger
pull the dance...
your heart in my hands
my hands in your heart.
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Version 16961, "Pacino"; Copyright © 2009 Gather Inc. All rights reserved.


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