Could there be a beach made of tears, br like music of snow thrown from the fingertips of a lady. br Then photographed br balancing on a sharpened knifeblade, br that will go hungry br eating only a slice of cut blue from the sky. br br So that's where we swim. After br showering down our soul's sad eyes, br or a beach made of dislocated tears; br Tears that know their own heart is warm. br That beach in the shade of the flowers, br our eyes watching everyone that passes. br knowing that what is left in this world, br is only remembered when having a drink. br When i remember the sky is a pillow br where i can rest your head br on the way to my dreams.