Whispering words to the sky Of echoes dancing through my ears Your children wondering why Your children wondering when But I've cut my loses 100 times over What you have, I don't want My hand returns to the flame I show the world my blisters Pulling off the bandages But even these bandages lie The troubled ones Your forgotten sons They are the dirt from which everything grows You trample upon us all And wash us from your feet All the sympathizers gaze into the wall Seeing the world But nothing in front of them Their eyes are filters of everything untrue The more they grip The more slips through their fingers And all your precious dreams fall into our dirt
Handcuffs & Flowers
8:58 p.m.//09.13.04