Jawh

As of late I've been falling in love with forest fires and wild running rivers, And it's left me charred like a flood over a burning barn before fire safety was a priority at office meetings. Driftwood as big as houses clog up my heart in a landslide of apparent indifference, like I cared about the first farm in a tornado but quickly after a monsoon tragedy became a rain shower statistic. I think I'm sadistic, but if I am what does that make the women with hurricane hips and the men with jaw lines like Mount Rushmore who put me here. I wanna answer the big questions in life, like how did I become as cold as the snow cap on Everest, And how

My heart can't be stolen. I keep it in a vault in Switzerland, 2 kilometers beneath the snowy ice caps Under the feet of bankers and the blondes. I keep it encased in cobalt, silver-gray metal masking the blue beneath. No super spy, no jewel thief, not even the cast of Oceans 11 can get to my heart, sealed in cobalt, locked up in that vault. I keep it there, my blue beating heart, I keep it from a lifetime of hard knocks, away from the tragedy, the good times and the bad. I don't want to break the vault, To smash the cobalt, to set free what is chained, To give my chest that blue beating heart. 'Cause without the vault, without the cobalt

I wanna be a boat afloat on your heart, drifting on the seas of your never ending eyes, rowing across those broad beach smiles. I’m sailing on a blue ocean of you and if you sink me I guess I’ll swim, Back to my row boat afloat on your heart, again.

You remind me of graffiti, no one see's the love unless they look at every stroke of spray paint on the wall. Every etching in a bathroom stall, every stroke of paint on an embankment wall, even broken chalk scrawl on the pavement, reminds me of you. You remind me of graffiti, and I see the love.

Cupid's arrows aren't warm or loving, when he draws from his quiver I quiver, I shake, rattle and shiver, because of Cupid's icy arrows. I feel like my wooden heart's been shot up so much it looks like a junkie's arm. You see, Cupid doesn't work for me, what that cherub doesn't realise is that my heart only burns when broken.

She's like Soviet Russia, drinking cheap imitation Vodka and reading Karl Marx for the first time since 1917. And just after Khrushchev's loaded up some nukes marked 'Bound for Cuba', well that's when it hits me. It hits me like a bullet in a parade, like the Bay of Pigs, like an invasion of Vietnam, like the nuclear winter that never came, I love you, Soviet Russia.

On a whiskey fueled rampage Through the darkness of the twilight, An anarchist without the movement, Slashes signs with spray paint And power lines with his hate. A city gone dark At the hands of one man Spreading Christmas cheer anarchy Like a ski mask Santa Claus In the middle of May. He's running now, Kissing the night in flight, As candles light up And red ringed glares Scream out from suburban skies. Atop a hill he stands, Overlooking the blackness. The torches shine like spotlights, Looking for someone who's already vanished Into the dark.

They say love is not for the meek, It's for those who seek and those who find. There's no room for the passive And for those who dive head first Into love's vast ocean, I salute you. But there's one thing everyone forgets, The ocean is six miles deep And I don't think your breath will keep In a six mile free style. Those that reach the end Out of breath and haggard, Often find no happiness, It all, love has devoured.

Forest fires burn for years in your eyes, And every time they meet mine I feel like someone's gonna shout 'Timber!' Because I'm falling for you all over again. I feel like those flames won't ever dim, Even when we're dead and gone, they'll live on. Even when I'm looking at your tornado hips, Or your avalanche smile, I'll be thinking of those forest fires, 'Cause they burn the brightest in my heart.

Waking up next to you, Is like waking up next to a thunderstorm, And I can’t keep warm, ‘Cause you've stolen all the blankets, And you’re raining on my parade. But when the sun comes out, And your lightening eyes open I’m stricken with a sense Of polite disbelief. When those thunderous eyes open They’re a new addiction, Every time I feel the same rush, Like I've just been struck by lightening.