You wrote yourself in camouflage
|
to see your eyes spelled out just right and you
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fired your last cannon ball-point pen.
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Across your parchment battlefield
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so toiled in rhyme and meter and
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your war of words began to meet its Hell today.
|
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Hold your words against the sun.
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It's like high-strung poets on a porcelain string.
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Tied to one another, always searching for something.
|
|
You'll throw your weapons down again
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and see the ink spilled through the page and you'll
|
surrender your lasts thoughts to the machine again.
|
|
Hold your words against the sun.
|
It's like high-strung poets on a porcelain string.
|
Tied to one another, always searching for something.
|
|
Let the sun disguise the mystery
|
of words describing misery.
|
Face reflecting light beneath the
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thoughts I thought I'd never.
|
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-----------------
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High-Strung Poets
|
| The Evan Anthem |
