Awoken in the mist of a strange new story.
Soaken with the dew that condensed from the mourning.
Adoring the chance that was humiliated for all to see.
Holding a breath, tongue turned dry, I am slow to speak.

A songbird falls as does the heroine in her song.
Somber pleasures arise from the place where you've gone.
Murdher, ivory murdher confides in me when I am weak.
Expire from salvation or be torn in two when you seek.

Whisper me a reason why we can't sit soaken in these puddles.
And toss the water till we tire and...
Tell me, why we should be anywhere else.

I've kept away from the bed since you've left.
You should know that there are only stems hanging from the ceiling.
The flowers you've loved have died and dried.
And the petals have dressed the pillows and sheets, concealing.

Smother me into my slumber.
As morning begets mourning.
Have you ever held a hunger
as it fashioned a murdher for a young life
and began warming?