I cannot teach your sparrow wings to raise you from the dead,
so I’ll seek freedom upon the mighty eagle’s back instead
He is brash and loud and cross half the time,
burdened with genius and far too much pride
and we disagree thrice daily, but our only true fight
is for all we love,
and we love an awful lot,
and this life is an awful lot,
but we both jumped from the nest into frigid air with no fear of falling
and we’ve been true to our words both callous and kind
And if the reaper ever came,
he’d squeeze my hand on the gallows before we’d hang side by side
while you’d cover your tender eyes
And he’s far from a poet, but each simple word is true
And he dreams of a world wide enough that I need not shrink myself
And when you’re not enough, I must seem too much for you
But I’ll no longer starve my soul into silence on your behalf
And though I ought to grieve the fragile, fallen bird I left behind,
my only sorrow is the ease with which I washed you from my mind.
