Ode To Gregor

High horse with an empty saddle Pedestal with no one to sit I often find myself before losing myself in the past Placement decay Too faint to do what is needed I lost myself in the what was's In the should have been's And the what were's Become, transform; enslave This is my metamorphosis Sweet beauty hush your mouth That plastic face of yours It has been much too prepared, We see right through you Which one were you wearing as we were one? When we cried, when we smiled