The golden child smiles discontinued dreams
With words that flow too easily to hear.
The swimmers dive and try to catch the waves -
Their laughter flows like honey coated razor blades.

And she is just some little girl who likes to pick the flowers
And show them how to make the grade
She rides the crest of manufactured waves and says that
She’s become what she herself has made:

And someone used to say the tide would turn.
And when it does, be where you want to be.
The winds of change blow singing with her tears :
And pulled her out and drowned her instead of me

I am higher, I am higher.
Holier than you
Holier.