Her Last Song

It's no secret now, everyone knows,
It's my shoulder the night uses to cry,
My bedroom with six hundred windows,
My feet where the truth comes to die.

My pillow where the moon can't stop weeping,
While the tide washes the prints in the sand,
Those eyes that seek out new meaning,
Your scarred, broken soul in my hands.

This pulse that's been chained to your sorrow,
Dandelions amidst lilies of snow,
Someday I will see through your disguise,
Someday pick my name from your lies.

Till then I'll hide my soul in your scrapbook,
With the photographs there and the moss,
And I'll yield to the flood of your innocence,
With my cheap guitar and my cross.

And you may carry me down to the darkness,
Wipe my slate with a flick of your wrist,
Take this verse, this accursed harness,
It's yours now, it's all that there is.