Am I late? I enjoy you, I enjoy the waves which beckon me, I call them as they call to me, like you call to me. Late to the party too often lately, You tell me I have always been intoxicating, Perhaps consuming much like the swarming, It is a subtle fear, tears bellow. And you go on like the overture of a cello. I stop you to say, "we feel like lovers." I know that it's not really worth it to leap from anything deeper I have learned what I had to believe me, But we feel like lovers, And I know that it's selfish, I know I am headed straight for the pit, let them eat my bones to carry on the tune, You bright eyed alchemist, your magnificence echos to me in the chambers of memories of songs. We feel like Lovers. How can I hold back? What is pride if not my honor? The paint will fade anyway but give me a golden chance I just know that I would break it.