send me off to war for you, lead me to my surrender
i've wrote a whole bookstore for you and now I can't
remember how we ever talked with the blades of words
because each page I mark is soft as snow.

send me back home for you, lead me to my bedroom
there's dust and cobwebs gathered there beneath
the ebony credenza, and I fought all the wars
I ever will with my heart's reflecting iron will
but my brain began to break like an old broom,
crackling with entropy inside its golden room,
my headaches warned of something close, my ideas
warmed like bread to toast.

And the elegance would have claimed to you that I
was disarranged like a remedial highschool,
and the eloquence would have rearranged for you
the facts which I might have explained to you
in verses, stanzas, words, and arrows
scrying from the sky's blizzard built like a meadow.