Only the Best Cliches

 

I wrote prophetic anthems to our riots

 

Made metal wires of your woes untie

 

You might admire my words like gospel but

 

your eyes find the rhythm I'm just the scribe

 

I know the blue bruises of a dancer

 

and the choreography of your mind

 

I want the sweet mornings in your bedroom

 

The endless kiss of gentle lips at sunrise

 

Could you count the highway lights separating

 

The Paris of you the Brooklyn of me

 

We're boats without paddles dogs on a leash

 

Unstoppable forces hung up on debris

 

Distance works like a magician's cheap trick

 

I'm right here beside you just can't be seen

 

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