[Fade] [Spoken] Early morning seeing sound Our rustle spoke and grafted sky to wind, our hearts speak of our mind let ripple fly cyanic dreams Warm cold clods of thought the sky The early morning wintry regain Touch light on skyline's frozen line A coffee stain, cyan goodbye Our rustled medly, softly glow Cyan we restful remembrance seek - the difference sought does sunrise keep bittersweet in keppel glare let ripple fly let go wind and return not letting up or returning our calls desperate with warm tears on our tongue uncatching fire of sky and milky cloudfall eyes sore nonetheless a sight for sore eyes sip coffee and get dressed, sip sort and fold and press another heart missing from the beauty, mocking, setting, resting better than we can and easier, our tongue bites on words slipping stopped and slowed in awe, untold and failing a simple sky, a lack of color fading to this steel gray the pallor of dead skin warming to an ice, wind into our faces, warming as the day races to another day and another day and another day.
