Fiction.
Everything makes angels,
But since the silence echoes through the clouds, I've seen blood form raindrops and make tear drops on solitude faces.
Even then, marks we make on our bodies, throats and wrists, they only lay testament of abundance in trust.
Since I've seen eagles crawl on the ground, angels on knees.
And it's freedom I've seen, in the cages around your chest,
Is the sky just empty? I don't want to believe, now that I've seen you fly.
It was never written that we're too young, to live, to love, to die.
Marks on the cross become shackled to the ankles of all those lost in the sky, learnt to use their wings but forgotten how to walk, flying with the hope that mere anchors cannot hold them down,
I've seen things.
Empty walls filled with hope,
And rooms so crowded ideas of memory get lost within the ruse.
Angels known for tears burst into laughter, mocking in their solid, immovable forms that I am just in loneliness.
Everything makes sense,
But the city is empty of fears and silence,
I hope to wonder, untill I'm lost from wandering too far.
Sometimes the sights of eyes cannot see through masks of emotion.
When do words become more than paintings of thought?
And its a memory written with broken glass.
Oh your dreams dear dreamer, have you seen the light?
What do you make of the truth?
He holds up empty what we've made of glasses, now declaring "cheers."
Signposts start to make notes of only where we've been,
As you ask for directions, they only tell you to say please.
And the hollow bones full of chemicals, your promises of faith,
Don't deny you the hope, I've seen you watch children cry.
Am I just your victim? Am I just your name?
Call it faith but I don't believe that I can fly.
Mirrors form catalysts of freedom, we cannot pass through,
Only to lose our reflection,
Would we forgot ourselves?
I dream in lies, painted brighty to cover up secrets
And the memory, memories.
I hope you've learnt to breathe.
But since the silence echoes through the clouds, I've seen blood form raindrops and make tear drops on solitude faces.
Even then, marks we make on our bodies, throats and wrists, they only lay testament of abundance in trust.
Since I've seen eagles crawl on the ground, angels on knees.
And it's freedom I've seen, in the cages around your chest,
Is the sky just empty? I don't want to believe, now that I've seen you fly.
It was never written that we're too young, to live, to love, to die.
Marks on the cross become shackled to the ankles of all those lost in the sky, learnt to use their wings but forgotten how to walk, flying with the hope that mere anchors cannot hold them down,
I've seen things.
Empty walls filled with hope,
And rooms so crowded ideas of memory get lost within the ruse.
Angels known for tears burst into laughter, mocking in their solid, immovable forms that I am just in loneliness.
Everything makes sense,
But the city is empty of fears and silence,
I hope to wonder, untill I'm lost from wandering too far.
Sometimes the sights of eyes cannot see through masks of emotion.
When do words become more than paintings of thought?
And its a memory written with broken glass.
Oh your dreams dear dreamer, have you seen the light?
What do you make of the truth?
He holds up empty what we've made of glasses, now declaring "cheers."
Signposts start to make notes of only where we've been,
As you ask for directions, they only tell you to say please.
And the hollow bones full of chemicals, your promises of faith,
Don't deny you the hope, I've seen you watch children cry.
Am I just your victim? Am I just your name?
Call it faith but I don't believe that I can fly.
Mirrors form catalysts of freedom, we cannot pass through,
Only to lose our reflection,
Would we forgot ourselves?
I dream in lies, painted brighty to cover up secrets
And the memory, memories.
I hope you've learnt to breathe.