She is the gentle air, which keeps me breathing
The soothing rythem, in which my heart is beating.
She is the endless time, which no one is keeping.
The salty tears, in which my eyes are bleeding.

She is the melting pictures, which keep me dreaming,
The Vincent Van'Gogh, of my white wash ceiling.
She is the melodic words, which keep you reading.
The Edgar Allan Poe, of the black book im keeping.

She is the heavy heart, which keeps me sinking,
The hopeless hope, in which my soul is seeping.
She is the broken heart, which keeps me drinking.
The entrancing silence, in which my words are creeping.

She is the consuming beauty, which keeps me needing.
The poisoned tounge, in which my lips are feeding.
She is the wasted dreams, which keep me sleeping.
The wasted life, in which my heart is leading.
 
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