River.

River.

We waded through dirty rivers
Slow and drowsy with pollution.
We strung out stars on our backs
Getting our fingers dusty;
With the toy night birds singing
Overhead with feathers of bright plastic,
Our eyes open like the mouth of a gun
Undressing elaborate facades
On the people we love.

If only your guitar had lips to speak
We could break down everything we know.
These four white walls around us,
And the lies layered over them.
We should strip them and leave
To paint the sky with our fingers again,
With thick van gogh paint
Rich with flavor and naked of lies,
And run our fingers dusty with star dust
In the filthy river to be clean.