The Last Boy

And I'm grown I have logic and wisdom and clarity And I know about magic and reason and the disparity And as I'm ticking down the days to whatever time is left Of my senses it seems I have become bereft I am undone I am once again undone By beauty I am mostly always undone I have an existential understanding of What the poets mean when they refer to love But he's The Last Boy Whom the gods have sent to lark as I am thus destroyed And my will and all my years lay in the balance As I'm veering towards this consecrated openness My weary soul is faint and failing fast And this longing gaze I take may be The last of me And he shambles in all the right ways Flinching, caught by the light in such bewitching disarray Oh scoop him up and drop him back into the nest Take his fledgling hands and find him rest, oh When oh, oh, oh, my sanity be damned How he vexes me this constantly surprising little scandal When I am ashen and my voice has fallen dark His confectionary face will sweetly flutter across my heart Acute perception, such a blessing and affliction Ruling recklessly when coaxing forth affection From The Last Boy Whom the gods have sent to lark as I am thus destroyed And my will and all my years lay in the balance As I'm veering towards this consecrated openness My weary soul is faint and failing fast And this longing gaze I take may be The last of me And at my end of days I'll cover all the mirrors Find this well worn page and with coyness linger here With The Last Boy Whom the gods have sent to lark as I am thus destroyed And my will and all my years lay in the balance As I'm veering towards this consecrated openness My weary soul is faint and failing fast And this longing gaze I take may be The last of me