Handcuffs & Flowers
8:58 p.m.//09.13.04

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

[messeges]
[them]
[mistakes]
[current]