I’m coming down to the end of time bar
To shout out a lesson to anyone who’ll hear
And drown in the smallest glass I can find
My reflection giving me the finger of fate
But maybe I can’t get my legs to work
And maybe I can’t get my car to start
And maybe I can’t get my door knob to turn
The way it needs to turn so I can get away from it
The cold winter air like daggers on my skin
My eyes freeze over like they do
So I shuffle with my arms outstretched
Searching blind for a solid thing to take me to you
Headlights firing out their beams like bullet guns
Damage us in ways we’re never sure
But maybe it’s the sickness lying waiting for a chance
Survival of the miniscule un-tellers of the tales
I see the blurred out forms that huddle in the dark
They’re sharing warmth and odorous experiences now
Of being told they can’t be here or there or anywhere
Because they lost the fight or became unwilling
Somewhere between propulsion and direction
I discover a view of things previously unseen
Not meant for human eyes and this I have not ruined
As humanity was never my strong suit anyhow
When I was small I’d pretend to sleep wherever I was sat
In hopes that Dad would carry me to bed and kiss my eyes
A memory that comes as I am loaded in the back
Was warmer then than I am warm today... much more to warm
And I don’t think the end is near at least from the events of today
But maybe I’m illiterate to writing on the wall
And grasping always grasping with a hopefulness and grace
That the things that were will come again just better in the now
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