The poems strewn across the floor; they're out of tune with every chord.
And one reads 'lay down inside this open heart.'
And where's this heart of which it speaks?
It must be soaring skies revealed.
For it's been fooled for the last time, or so it would seem.
And I can't lay down inside this open heart.
With these crazed eyes of aftermath.
Tell me what happens when the planets align?
Will torrids skies collapse our hearts?
Will jealous moons come crashing down into the ocean floor?
For it's been fooled for the last time, or so it would seem

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