Fallen

I write of a love that's two cigars short in a box With a chest of smoke and loves to lay on a bed of Roses Made of yeast and dough, it's known years of surviving on the crams of a lovers bread My wrist loves to lose control Try paint the picture of the woman who drives my father crazy A woman moulded by the ladies of my city I take notes of the fellows of my town The men who drink from the cup of pain and bring heartbreaks Humans who love to wage war on the subtle heart For romance in my city is a warzone Where they shall never be peace And love like bread should be picked by the doves of my region Taken to the last embers of the cities where you do not share your own For today my heart has shed another layer to make parcel the blood pump of an unfortunate lady I wish to wound an organ once more For their is a lady who before championed the perishing of my self esteem Wore the last remains of what survived of my heart in the fire And now the city will not rest