Inside display of broken wings
So smooth
Porcelain face cracks and flakes away
Turns pulse
Flying down telephone lines to the pictures on your wall Burning on contact
And the branches were stripped under
Winters numb with the breath that was the fire
Burning through the room
And we won't come back under
Back drop of mountains
Above pastels
In flames that crawl up
Time wont stop for loss
It hits the back seat
Tearing fabric from the lines till the clouds come
To swallow the night
Leaving less piled on the floor
This one hands you the all we fall