She sits on the other side of the room
Yet her lyrical words draw in my eyes
Her works entrap my gaze in this heavenly tomb
Her angelic dialect only matched by her warmly guise
I find my mouth curve whenever she speaks
Is her beatific tongue gonna be my demise?
Since I first heard her song my spirit sways as it peaks
Yet it cannot speak it’s blissful meter
The siren’s waves trapped me in their wakes
My metronome loses track when I see her
But my music is aroused by her cords
I know she can’t see me yet for her libretto I yearn
It is her voice that could call fourth all lords
But why can’t her words call for me?
Why can’t I be made of the summoned hoards?
Yet to her I’ll listen, because her tune is free
Though to it’s lines I am but a slave
I don’t want to move and I cannot flee
Oh what lonesome roads we pave
To play our songs through fear and fume
Because if we don’t our freedom we waive
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