I call out to you. You don't hear me. I'm running naked through the fields. You don't see me. You don't see me? I'm waiting for the rain to come down. Can't you see the white of my body against the blue grey skies?
You're too base. You're too tied to the Earth. I'm too out there. I belong to the wind. I've got too much poetry. You don't have an ounce. You've got charm. You've got charisma. You've got sex appeal. I've got elegance. I've got Grace. I've got class.
Neither of us have the kind of beauty that counts, though. You're an animal. I'm just an angel. Oh, but if I was a whore...If I was a whore, you'd be all over me. I'd make you think you got me where you wanted. I'd make you feel like a man. I'd make you do things to me you dare not do to an angel. And you'd smile that dirty smile. So would I...but I'd be faking.
You don't want what's real. How can you? It's too above you. You're too beneath it. I hover over you...with my wings...these wings which are bigger than my body can support. What do you know? What do you know of true suffering? You know nothing...you and your tattooed crown of thorns...
My body is clean. This body is too clean. I can't accommodate your filth, your sin, your manhood.
I was told there'd be days like these. He whispered little secrets to me the day I was born. No balloons for me. No kites. No lanterns. It's just me, in the dark. It's just me, in the light. It's just me, in the shadows...underneath the Sun...underneath the Moon...by the water. It's just me...all dewy and pure. It's just me and these thoughts of you, of me, of you and I...and what will never be.
