Romance is dead in me,
and she will sleep now,
and one day
she might wake.
But sitting in the quiet with my king, it's there when he speaks. In the long fields with an old book in my hand while my sensationalism is dead and apart from my flesh. Thats when my king tells me his tales, thats when I understand honor, and I get obedience. And, man, I battle for those times, cause I got a fever that wont break.
But they come. They always do.
And his songs and melody doesn't seem to far away when I quiet down. His direction is not too hard, when you got the flame of his hand piercing your heart. When the kids ruffle your hair and put a little fire under your feet, you already got somethin burning you to a truer blue; the rough sun doesnt kill you the same. The beatings all come with bandages and you know her sorrow songs are not the end of her.
Somehow, love is born from your rough heart.
Somehow you are capable of that.
You thought you were always gonna be sick and perverted.
You thought your love would always be laced with lies.
But not in this kingdom.
Not in his kingdom.
Submission to a Pure King. To a righteous authority, its flying, not falling.
Fly girl.
Here is my prayer.
I need to strength from my body. Strength lost from a lack of authority in my life. I NEED mentors and strong men to battle with me. Reign over me lord. Reign over me.
