Maybe tonight in the few short moments In which we converse
|
We can speak of something other than the ways our bodies hurt us.
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Please, please, think of me. I¡¯m Alive and still breathing
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I¡¯m wondering is this a death bed in which the living lay.
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This turned out to be something that I have no control over
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This secret reservoir that can dry up, or spill over
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As it pleases. This power is stripped from me.
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So I¡¯m listening for you to speak to me,
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Of Green Days and Blue Nights,
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or at least nothing that even remotely,
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Reminds me of these Workhorse Days
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Blame everything on me,
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I can carry the weight of everyone on my body.
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Give Justice for these sins,
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or at least an explanation for how I have been feeling.
|
Please, please, think of me. I¡¯m Alive and still breathing
|
I¡¯m listening for you to speak to me,
|
Of Blue Days and Green Nights,
|
or at least nothing that even remotely
|
Reminds me of these Workhorse Days
|
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Blue Days And Green Nights
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| Waxwing |
