I much prefer things when they're rearranged
When all the nitty-gritty's washed away
When things are far more focused than deranged
And when it's near the ending of the day.
So if I sweep my hand across your face,
And if you give me blessings with your eyes,
Then how could all that fun be a disgrace,
And what would be the matter with surprise?
For are we all not meant to work as one,
And are our biorhythms not in sync
From deep inside the moment life's begun,
To when we take our very final drink?
So I know that there's nothing quite like this,
To rearrange the secrets of our bliss.
No comments:
Post a Comment