What began as a poem is now just a burden,
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a vicious song that¡¯s mine to keep.
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What began as forgetting is now just a prototype of ways to fight off sleep
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Arm the thieves with the wings and weights of soldiers to deepen the pockets of the meek
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Make mixtapes of other peoples problems
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and burn everyone CD¡¯s.
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Cause they¡¯ve built themselves some charade
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where a saving grace is hard to find.
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What began as a song ended up as a death threat
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addressed to everyone¡¯s house but mine.
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So far confined into dead ends
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with greater love of consequence
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and a quiver filled with bad intentions
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to let them fall where they may.
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So tell them for their own sake
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Do your best to stay awake
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The burden¡¯s are mine,
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contently confined to carve the lines in acetate.
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Get the syringe.
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Let¡¯s see if ink to page brings the same fear as life, love and medicine.
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It can break skin
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Let¡¯s see who feels it.
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Things have changed so little from the way I planned it
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a ventricle scarred, lined with mathematics.
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And an escape to my old best advantage
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a savagely serrated pen.
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Get the syringe
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Let¡¯s see if ink to page brings the same fear as life, love and medicine
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It can break skin
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it can¡¯t break me.
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Here¡¯s your advantage
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Things have changed so little from the way I planned it
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a scab to heal hopeless semantics
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It¡¯s all romantics
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We¡¯re all romantics.
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The math is coincidence.
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-----------------
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Compass And Square
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| Crime In Stereo |
