this silver platter world
|
handing out its song and dance
|
says subjective obsolescence
|
is the right of all humans
|
condemned human race dancing
|
to their hormonal tunes
|
which change according to food intake
|
and tides changed by the moon
|
try it you may not like it trade it in come tomorrow
|
for the main objective in this life
|
is to be devoid of sorrow
|
buy it if you can or steal it if you must
|
and look into the mirror
|
if you need someone you can trust
|
|
and we can say things didn't work out
|
til we say things don't work out
|
|
you can say things don't work out
|
i say it's people who don't
|
guided by fear of all commitment
|
we can run but we're still owned
|
by all our petty fears and desires we'll never satisfy
|
on our sick beds with question marks
|
in our heads as we die
|
god has shown us what is right
|
and what there is to care for
|
but we're in a hall of mirrors darkly
|
uncaring to find the door
|
words like sin redemption and trust
|
hit our ears irrelevantly
|
condemning ourselves to no hiding place
|
in the time of missed glory
|
|
to God we'll say things didn't work out
|
and God will say shut up and get out
|
|
-----------------
|
Things Don't Work Out
|
| Frank's Enemy |
