Shake Those Eights

June 8, 2011
Hey my sweet heart of love,
Don't you see you're broken, with the death of the dove?
It's a tree that has grown to its fullest, with it all to lose.
Cut down, the seeds have fallen with forever a bruise.
But, we shake those eights,
Waiting for the opening of the gates.
Looking for a way out, but even blind I can't make it.
Suppose it is everywhere, well it is I'll admit.
Always but once, one of those eyes blinking.
That once, it was nothing, besides the down of it sinking.
But, the past is something we go by.
We can't blame the innocent tears we cry.
But, we give those hands a knife,
We can do it your way, with the old or new life.
Take off the white or leave it to turn gray.
Open gate, swing! Leave me a way!
But together, I will always be,
With this broken heart and cut-down tree.

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