I dreamed you painted your face, and in a most peculiar way, you hid away from the light of day, which could revive, if only you would let it shine.
But an eclipse of the eyes and your life compromise, you've lost your dignity, your pride.
I guess I want to see more dignity, self respect and respect for me, moral standards and a conscience to guide her.
She paints her face and hides away, but what happens when it rains? Rain drops from your eyes cut through your disguise.
Someone who can talk about anyone and anything, shares everything. Not afraid of what I'm thinking, but set on my knowing.
I'd sneak through a window just to stay up and talk, cry in my arms and set the alarm just to make the ensuing break of day.
I'd ride through mud-filled puddles, dragging my wrists the whole way, just to see the rain wash your face.
And my Lady of White would do the same. Suffering is beautiful, when mutual. Tell me, could Juliet have lived with herself if she had stayed alive and cried and realized that Romeo would have to reside outside her heart and his eyes open wide, having awoken to his sorrowful bride who had only enough love to cry and stay alive while she believed Beloved dead. Nay, this story would not end in such epic, but continue to a dull, unsatisfactory, would-be legend.
Eyes would wonder and so would mind of dear Romeo: "Why did she stay alive? Would not I have taken my own life if 't were believed my bride had died?" -- Yet she stayed a live and died inside.
For such woe goes unnoticed without genuine devotion. What is it to have cried? What is it to mourn? Nothing. Why do we worship Romeo and Juliet? Cleopatra and Marc Antony? Because be it may that lives were taken away, love was taken to the same place. And this fire is eternal even without pen.
Devotion and Compassion. These are the nutrients our daughters lack. These are the supplements a Father's love has. A Father who loves, has a daughter love and loved back. And orphanette has a void times two. For without Paternal love, she searches the ocean and sky, too, for something unknown to her. She seeks for love without its meaning, and finds everything but.
She is an empty soul. She paints her face. When will she change?
So live for yourself and die for your lover. Which is the nobler gesture? Or even better, Live yourself with your lover and die together so it may be that love burns on.
I dreamed you cut up your face, you were ashamed, you let them take your respect for no one's sake.
An eclipse of the lips, with your lying hips, you live for them and die selfish.
And here I write so it might be that the deepest reaches of souls and thoughts and yearnings and passions and love, and love's sake may be right.
