Smoke and dead flowers

Smoke and dead flowers.

Blacks stars, and falling skies.

The beauty in obscurity,

the joyful cries.

 The confusion that makes sense,

 the insanity that's sain.

The taste of thunderstorms,

 the smell before rain.

It'll make you scream,

 yet calm your nerves.

It will test your strength

 and all its reserves.

 It's the graceless faults,

 the faultless grace.

 That blank stair, those deep eyes,

 set upon my face.

It's the mystery behind all

the passing hours.

This is my life,

the smoke and dead flowers.