One, two, three

She spoke to me in a soft voice
Offering words and images of extreme beauty
Warm hands gripped my heart
Blood covered lips, they whispered
And assured me that all we have left is just
You and I

"You're growing up, and rain sort of remains on the branches of a tree that will someday rule the Earth; and that's good that there's rain, it clears the month of your sorry rainbow expressions, and it clears the streets of the silent armies, so we can dance."