"love is a fair," you said,
and in my head i knew that you
would tell me to beware
for hands that bled and cradled visions
long beyond repair
the song you sang was dead, instead
you made your bed with care

and i wish i had your way with words
i heard the stories that you told, reprise,
and in your eyes i saw that you were growing
cold
wise beyond your years, you
pocketed your fears, and in your smile
i saw that you were growing
old

and you, not caring what you'd find,
raised your glass to what's ahead, but
drank to what you left behind

you always took the long way home
and i, in my haste, always missed the moonrise
your eyes beheld a heavy tome, a waste,
as it was only read alone, unkissed
and every afternoon you watch the flowers
bloom because you need the
taste of lies to prove that you
exist

you poured yourself a glass of wine
and you, not fearing what you'd find,
raised your glass to what's ahead, but
drank to what you left behind

you poured yourself a glass of time
and you, to ease your troubled mind,
raised your glass to what's ahead, but
drank to what you left behind