It feels strange now to think of you, like a poem

or a frightened song towards a thin spring

where I was sad with some sad synonym

beside the toughest bastard, my Adios King.

Paradise when will I look you in the eye again?

Paradise come wrap your arms around me.

Paradise that’s why I’m alone but I can’t complain.

That’s why I’m alone with pale thought as stain.

But there’s this feeling somewhat shackled inside me,

which reaches up to move my mind, with a touch

of control, to start writing, be free,

to write, looking right back, to only write too much.

Such is me, a lousy student, who turned

round misery into something he learned.

Little ballads, trembling,

To sing. Your disguise,

Both beautiful and kind,

That blue in your eyes.

Ceiling like a greenhouse,

The sun’s in the sky.

But I can’t help but look,

At that blue in your eyes.

You’re open-shouldered, out

For a smoke. As I

Recycled old cans,

Jus’ watchin’ your hair,

By the window-glass doors.

You gave your verse and I

Gave mine. Delicate,

Past words of suff’ring,

Sad-faced but fine.

Soft voices, softer still,

You waved to me goodbye,

Do you remember those fogged street-lights?

How that blue swarmed in her eyes?

When loud moonlight pushed down,

Like the rubble of the sky,

I had to find my own way back.

Won’t you tell me I’m better than Jack?

I don’t know how to say it,

Don’t know if it’s wise,

I want to write when I’m near you,

Near that blue in your eyes.

Busy days, quiet days,

Tables one through three.

Will our story be done,

When I graduate?

Me’n my lacklustre words,

Don’t know if we’re bi,

This the last time I’ll write,

’Bout that blue in your eyes.