Kick your pretty shoes through the mud,
I could sit here forever taking air only to breathe.
Dull warmth pressed against me
And it shimmered in a western palette
Through the cleansing voice that rain could speak.
This laughter can stain everything we've come to love
And it wouldn't stop you from staring back
Looking for an answer in the deep azure.
The cage God put it in was meant to be expanded,
But it is left up to us to work it out in due time.
So put a crease on the last page of your favorite book,
You cannot forget how this one was going to end
When only the light of working fire made it through.
It burned a picture so tastefully overexposed
Of the flavor in each word skewed by your front gate:
"We don't make our opportunities, but we make our on fate."
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