Garden of Perfection

The very idea of beauty died so long ago, 
But sometime i catch a glimpse, 
At the call of your name or by the touch of your hand. 
I saw this place as Adam once saw Eve, 
But gone is the garden of perfection. 
Now all that's left, 
the dirt we've become, not the dirt we came from. 


I'm running out of things to say, 
Running out of lies, 
Out of trust, 
of love, 
of dreams,
I'm starting to get a little tired of running towards you, 
So I guess I'll have to stop for awhile. 

Then I realize I'm all alone.