...Fleece Was White As Snow

The way you stare at the ceiling
to ease the healing
of looking into another's face,
a curse that can't be erased--
the smile that sinks in across your lips
as you imagine your hands on another's hips.
Her eyes, her smile, through them she glows.
Oh, you don't, you don't, you don't know
what you're doing.

Yeah, you're her knight in fading armor
with every intention to charm her.
She'll fall head over heels
because she's too young to know what's real.
To her the difference in the shades is a mystery
due to a lack of romantic history
or any kind of history at all.
Hang what daddy's given her on a wall
like it's nothing.

But it's OK, I guess.
I mean, to you it's the best.
And you know everything, right?
So there's no need for this fight,
this never-ending war.
Honestly, it's become such a bore.
The rage rises like the tide,
but then the red subsides.
What now?

His hands are on your heart,
though they've been there from the start.
And now they're on your skin
as you're soaking in the sweetest sin.
Can your peel your mind out of the seas of lust
to carry out the actions previously discussed?
Your faith is strong, you're "ideal"--
are you ready to prove if you're for real?
Here it comes.

And I'm done.