dear delilah

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Stream her with roses and daisies, dear mother,
let all that she speak be all that that she hears.
For no higher, no higher let her forehead doth grow;
and so dote, dote my mother, my mother so dear
and let her run free with a conscience so clear

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jieyang:) patricia monica michelle divinia ehui

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Tuesday, 12 June 2007

maybe a mermaid or sommat.

And my hair gets shorter and shorter.

Lacrima Madonna,
blow away the pain
to a babe in the ocean
from the mother rain.

Its lyrics like this that I can't get. BABE IN THE OCEAN?!

*grumblegrumblegrumble*

(Note: I also patent Sommat. Means something-like-that)

###

There's something about the way you look when you are tired. There are always lines of romance etched into your face, as you suddenly turn still, lips slightly parted, eyelids softly closed and trusting. Comfort, safety, trust; all these, in the vision of life in mock-death. So alive and fragile, that it seems that if I touched you then, it would all be shattered, and falseness would return, so cheaply bought.

And it seems that my destructive side comes out everytime. My fingers always reach to stroke the unbelievable reality. That perfection is rare. I want to watch you everytime you fall asleep, everytime you wake up, and slowly rearrange yourself to fit me once again. But for now, it is a depressing event to dream of you, radiant in sunlight.

he told me that I've done alright
and kissed me till the morning light