My head has sounds that rouse the dragonflies
They spill my secrets to the the sun, but he’s an okay guy.
Soon, we ran away.
To find a story that was worth saying.
With dirty claws, he ran along a forest floor
With talking bees and singing trees that wept about their stolen wool goat fur
The sky wasn’t big enough at all
It broke apart for the creatures that came down like the first cold snow.
He was scared, so he returned back to his home
Back to his princess with her friendly, forest friends
Everything that was once green, had been turned black by ruined blackened bookends
This is the story of the creatures that came down like snow
And slowly ruined us all
They bled like the reckless nights we used to dance away
I wish somebody had told me, beloved, that you came last.
You were not the first beast to place his dirty claws on me.
But you will be the last.
The last.
Just another voice 