Paste

For all the stones you might have thrown
All of the effort has been wasted
For all the good you might have meant
Bittersweet honeyed love you've tasted

She said that everything would be all right as long as we just held on
Do you ever wonder if all these apples we picked will make them sick
Do you ever wonder if all these apples we picked will make them sick
Floating in their bellies, nothing but a gullet full of paste

In the night the moon does carve her face
Implacable as the wasted mountains
The tides of dreams will pull you under
Remembrance of sweet kisses and held hands

I held her in the night, a child so fraught with worry and so pale
Do you ever wonder if all these apples we picked will make them sick
Do you ever wonder if all these apples we picked will make them sick
Floating in their bellies, nothing but a gullet full of paste

Her hands white with worry, and such a tense, sad face
And her eyes, so harried, speak my mind, forget my place
With lips like alabaster and the mounting sense of fear
My heart breaks like age-old plaster, my guise coruscating tears

Do you ever wonder if all these apples we picked will make them sick
Do you ever wonder if all these apples we picked will make them sick
Floating in their bellies, nothing but a gullet full of paste