Melting Grid

Paper that’s quick to burn, I’m the cinnamon peeler
Beetles crushed that dye the carmine, I exist to be dreaming still

And if the roses need not tending
Until noon I’d sleep
But never could I have gone on that way
Because money was not the thing that yielded sight

Colorado, Wyoming, Helena into the Evergreen
The waves washed all thought of endeavor that was left in me

Would you ask my permission
The next time you absorb me
Preserve my memory of the mystic west
As I lay no claim to the devotion I felt

Our conversation banked in me and I had almost forgot the nature of dawn
I thought of it for days after, even months after the moments were gone

But I’d get so lonely inside of that room
No matter who waited for me
I’ll get so lonely inside of that room
No matter who will ever wait for me