You wove our future, but remained asleep.
I was no soothsayer, with a love so oblique.
I left you stuck on a staircase; a specter rippling in the breeze.
I only have two hands, I only have two feet.
A life spent wasted, waiting for these fires to birth gold.
We were silk souls rising, but we let our wings be sold.
We could have touched the sun.
We could have torched the earth.
Theirs were foreign bodies, Mother Russia cold.
I tried to fish out their spines as they laid their eyes grey and stoned.
Your radiance burned supernova, confusion grew with our plight.
I tried to cherish your grace, but you extinguished your light.
A life spent waiting for these fires to birth gold.
We were silk souls rising, but we let out wings be sold.
We could of touched the sun, we could have torched the earth.
Pull. Cut. Rip. Clip your wings.
We could have touched the sun.
We could have torched the earth.