Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

She wields my heart.
Destruction remains in the palms of her hands,
Her touches are oh so shape
Yet, so pleasing to withstand.
Flying high in a friendly sky
So high, without coming down,
Rest of the folks lay weary and die
Without ever leaving the ground.
Don’t brother to understand me,
I’m going off to rest in the place
Where good feeling takes me,
A naïve mind, it’s destined to forsake me
Oh god, but I always go crazy 
When I can’t be played by this lady.
Well I know I’m addicted in the end
To a woman who makes puppets out of men,
Oh yes lord I am.
She holds my heart in her hands
A long way from home, I’m unsure if I’ll see them again,
Oh baby, I’m weary if you even understand
How destruction is in the palms of your hands.