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DIAMONDS AND LOVE LINES
Rusty gold leaves, they are falling.
It's a day for a seasonal play.
A honey-blond Shawna is calling,
to blow all her bubbles my way.
She lacks any trace of a sorrow,
might chime to the music I play.
Plants flowers in hope that tomorrow,
will spin her a rose colored day.
Oh, trade me my diamonds...for what's in the stars,
and mesh me your love lines...with stellar guitars.
The play, so it seemed, was closed-circuit,
unless we agreed to subscribe.
Quite pends on the ways you've rehearsed it,
that act of theatrical pride.
Yet, lacks any trace of a sorrow,
might chime to the music I play.
Plants flowers in hope that tomorrow,
will buff her all floral 'n gay.
Oh, trade me my diamonds...for what's in the stars,
and mesh me your love lines...with killer guitars.
The play, so it seemed, was closed-circuit,
unless we agreed to subscribe.
Quite pends on the ways you invert it,
that astral conviction inside.
Still lacks any trace of a sorrow,
might chime to the music I play.
Plants flowers in hope that tomorrow,
will spin her a rose-colored day.
Rusty gold leaves, they are falling.
It's a day for a seasonal play.
A honey-blond Shawna is calling,
to blow all her bubbles my way...
