The energy, the source, and the medium are all distorted.
You give me the thrill of a leftover frill
Oh brown sugar, how would someone taste so good as you.
Gotta tell her I’m into dark tinted pots of glass; In which grows a flower so scentful till it lasts.
But take care cos I’ve seen those shatter so soon.
Take me to a place where I was; Anything where there’s you.
Take my hand wrapped upon with your fingers of faith.
For I’m all up to be down for you.
Should it be like a rose without all the thorns but petals; I ask you.
I try not to compare, but you came and dissapeared like that wind past my neck; Whirling upon what you see next.