Wednesday, November 30, 2005


it flows from spout to porcelain
and it hasn't rained like this in days
i'm a cold sweat in an awkward pause
but we all fumble for perfect words

where's the phrase thats going to turn her
as they all delve deep into pockets for the scrap of paper
carved with passion
that will no doubt ease their longing

another toast to oblivia
who knows without knowing
the blindest eyes can hear the truth we miss between syllables

but no ones blessed or rested
we're all just serving time
and you can't dig forgiveness
without fucking up the perfect crime

but all in all theres a bathroom stall
with everyones name in ink
so we all know each others secrets about our stained glass intimacies

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