I scream to notice my fingers numbing more and more.
Losing my pulse, holding my breath.
Saving it's allowance to purchase one last hope.
It's funny how fragile life gets contained in glass.
Waiting for salvation to come one letter at a time.
Forming redemption with ink and a feather.
How many times must these wrists be severed
to bleed out all of the tired blood.
Hold my words, dust my page.
Trace the inkstrokes enraged.
Carving out liberations with pencil lead,
tones in flesh fed, lips to savor.
All truth, all pain,
the madness endeavor.
Not wanting to mix words,
I separate my intensions by etching syllables in wood.
Breaking down motives, keeping score.
What for?
Writing verse in rhythm, meter with premise.
Currents forging cracks in smiles too precise to recognize.
Knowing it's too late to reconsider
my failing position.
I succomb, unthreading the tide to be overcome.
By this oncoming, unstopping mass.
click the cover to go back to album.
Music and Lyrics by John Lutzow