Beauty Is in Its Embrace

Inside display of broken wings 
So smooth 
Porcelain face cracks and flakes away 
Turns pulse 
Flying down telephone lines to the pictures on your wall 
Burning on contact 

And the branches were stripped under 
Waving overhead
In your breath there was the fire 
Burning through the room 

[Unclear]

And we won't come back under 
Back drop of mountains 
Above pastels 
In flames that crawl up
Time wont stop for loss 
It hits the back seat 
Tearing fabric from the lines till the clouds come 
To swallow the night 
Leaving less piled on the floor
This one hands you the all we fall