The river flows, and for some it fades

When I come back tomorrow, she’s not the same 

But I still call it a river 

I have cried many rivers, and drowned many sinners 

In my journals and my bedrooms

In dark, eerie parking lots 

Where if you go late enough, magic blooms

And touch sparks lights bright enough to make you believe 

Every crease, was worth the pain of carving 

Disarming my soul so you can take a look

Call it a hook 

His smile, and maybe my eyes

And oh, now we’ve spilled a dream all over my dress

I shake it off but its stained my skin

Akin to his love, now I have dreams stuck to my pillow 

I try to wash it while the tide is still low 

When did my river become an ocean? 

Some potion, some spell, he left behind some shelf last he stayed

I’m entrapped, now that’s just rude

Crude skin under my finger tips, at the cusp of desire

But I am not tomorrow what I was tonight 

And he loves in spite

Of the scarred bedroom walls, and empty bathroom stalls 

Of stale lingering desire in unattended mire

And so my love must be a river, 

It must flow and it must fade, 

So I am neither scarred bedroom wall, nor someone else’s desire 

I am new today, as I will be tomorrow 

Love me today and again tomorrow.