March

Time would stop and in silence shake when I'd shape my arm around your waist. And though nighttime brought your heaviest freight, some did never sleep, some did never wake. The portrait curled in violets and blues carried all my best from my brush to you. Framed on your wall in the daybreak hush, it saw all our troubles come alive with us.

Move on, move on! It's been so long and I don't have the tears for that now. Move on, move on! It's been so long and I don't have the tears for the years you've had so many tumbling down.

Oh, my breath is all but dead; no, alcohol won't cure no head. Lying on my back as the daylight grew; the portrait helped me see the worst in you.
So, I'm your secret locked up in the box where you keep your hopeless serenades and your knives with my name on them? Who's now your soldier standing starboard aboard the ship you keep trapped inside the bottle of your discontent amid your fears and allegations?