Nymphetamine (Fix2)

Led to the river, midsummer I waved

A bee of black swanson with hope to the grave

Through red September, when skies far are paved

I beg to appear like the thorn for the only ones

Cold is my soul, I don't wash the pain

I face where you left me, a rose in the rain, So high as to rise up, the never-retained,

Though your dark nails fade, but both strong I feel again.

Fed on your tone by my prayer for you, Would you ever soon come above unto me?

For once upon a time from the barns of your loneliness

I could always find the right slot for your sacred key

Fold to my arms, hold their mesmerized sway

And dance just to the moon as we did in those golden days

I would always find the right slog for the sacred key.

The sacred key