Beloved of John, I get it all wrong
I read you for some kind of poem
Covered in lines, the fossils I find
Have they no life of their own?

So can we pretend sweetly
Before the mystery ends?
I am a man with a heart that offends
With its lonely and greedy demands
There’s only a shadow of me in a manner of speaking I'm dead

Such a waste, your beautiful face
Stumbling carpet arise
Go follow your gem, your white feathered friend
Icarus, point to the sun
If history speaks of two baby teeth
I’m painting the hills blue and red
They said beware, Lord hear my prayer
I’ve wasted my throes on your head

So can we be friends, sweetly
Before the mystery ends?
I love you more than the world can contain
In its lonely and ramshackle head
There’s only a shadow of me in a manner of speaking I'm dead