Itís a black bird symphony that brings me to my knees.
Something in his caustic humor set to second hand voices.
Heís got a smile like a scar.
These are just familiar words in an unfamiliar language.
Laughter before and after.
Inhaling fire and ice under this static glow,
he isnít really seeing me.
Iím dancing to the beat of my own dying heart as he stares into space.
The language barrier is made of smoke and mirrors.
Itís made with every hidden meaning
in every stolen glance and nervous gesture,
in every casual encounter.
The painted ponies with their sightless eyes are chasing him down.
I never loved him.
We meet here time and time again.
No strings attached.
Our dreams have stagnated somewhere beyond the horizon
itís time to go home again.