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