Figurative Language
Her eyes were as blue as the ocean,?
Those eyes that always seemed to take my breath away.?
Those hands I’d die to touch—
?All the butterflies, with their flips and flaps,?Couldn’t stop the room from feeling like a fireplace;?In fact, I think they helped.
But these words—?
These words are where it ended,?
The lines that we crossed and blurred?
Between what was real and fake.?
You said, “Well, figuratively speaking,?
It’s just my language.”
But the words that you speak—
?I mean,?
You say one thing, but
you mean a whole other.?
It’s not all cute and fluffy;
it’s pouring down rain,?
And I didn’t bring an umbrella.
?But you’re just going to say,?
“Well, figuratively speaking,?
It’s just my language.”
So I’ll sit back, and I’ll listen,?
And I’ll try to comprehend?
The things that don’t sound
like what they mean,?
And the exaggerations beyond human comprehension.?
Because at the end of the day,?
After the games that
you’ve played,?
All the mistakes that I’ve made
?Well,?
If we’re speaking figuratively,?
It’s just our language.
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