Yellow Like Gold
ADAM J. RUBENSTEIN, DAVID V. MOORE
Frail like dreams,
I had crossed a thought
Thin line I'd never seen.
I know that dreams turn nails to leaves
And this deceiver is someone
I can't keep at bay.
So I blame me whenever
I let my ghost stray.
I blame the honest man
With his heart in his hand.
And I come harboring
Secrets in the night.
Knowing that beneath this skin
Lies a man waiting to come alive.
This is the sound thoughts
Make like ballads from the barrel of a gun.
And I "at my sky blue trades"
Fade back to where I came from.
I blame the honest man
With his heart in his hand.