Twisted limbs
Broken from wind
Ian Curtis's Eternal within
Sealed in blood under parchment it waits
Walking up through the skin cursive lines fill my veins
This murky fury burning inside
Is there a moment or just second hand lies
The hands on the clock are choking me
Threw her ashes in the open sea
Hate brings us together love tears us apart
But she's at the bus stop so I'm back at the start
Traffic moves like clouds, I move like a ghost
I'm stuck in this window with fantasies as my host
I've never been too good at drowning
But here comes the storm, I'm glad fate found me
I close my eyes
And wait for the rain
A clamour of sound and the silence begins
Deep in clay
The warriors wait
Exhumed from trenches
We'll watch their escape
That's not a wave that's a goodbye
It's a farewell for the good guys
They were gadflies for the bad guys
So bury them all with the dandelions
In this organized disaster we call society
Emotion went extinct along with sobriety
Some saw a murder, some saw a poem
People gather round a corpse that is their own
As they become
The unsung
The milk rose up
In garden plots
I love her thoughts
They ignore social order
There is no time
Just this singular mortar
And there's no fear when history's waiting
Nowhere in nature to contemplate the mind's making
Distorted truths in sane minds capsize
'Til the skies filled with fish
Coral clouds scrape the eyes
Death laid eggs in the wound
Routine's a mass grave, no one gets a tomb
You can't make bones for a jellyfish
No spine in the back of a sel-fish
Don't you waste that blood on a blush
Nothingness is up and the gold leaves rust
We wrote nostalgia in wet cement
As America drowned in machines and lament
All failed attempts
Collapsed in their forms
Bled out in time 'til their beating's unknown
But what is lost and what is just sleeping
Deep in pause you can hear its heart creeping
Your body's an island, your fingers are peninsulas
We used to be pangea what has gotten into us
We're all in the same place, trying to be alone
Worst part about it in your mind I'm not known
She was a flower, we let her wither
We watered her with bitter words in the winter
There was truth on my tongue but I couldn't taste
Now I'm waiting for the termites to eat my wooden face
As they walk on
Past the bus stop
And death rose up
To cast our plots