Pink Bullets

I was just bony hands as cold as a winter pole
You held a warm stone out new flowing blood to hold
Oh what a contrast you were to the brutes in the halls.

My timid young fingers held a decent animal.
Over the ramparts you tossed
The scent of your skin and some foreign flowers
Tied to a brick, sweet as a song
The years have been short but the days were long.

Cool of a temperate breeze from dark skies to wet grass
We fell in a field it seems now a thousand summers passed
When our kite lines first crossed, we tied them into knots
And to finally fly apart we had to cut them off.

Since then it's been a book you read in reverse
So you understand less as the pages turn
Or a movie so crass and awkardly cast
That even I could be the star.
I don't look back much as a rule
And all this way before murder was cool
But your memory is here and I'd like it to stay.

-The Shins