I’ll reverse its terror into my lungs
Before I call you on the phone
Scream out and list the reason I never won the war.
It’s a vile dusk that I just can't shake
Waiting for you.
The blood red metaphors that pull my words back
Into that abyss every time I try to rupture their chains.
The shaking syndrome of my mouth and hands
Some will call it a malady
But it's the nerves that I have built
Built a wall of them for you to see
Like a lightning strike to a building of synapse
Isn't thought a beautiful thing.
I'll pretend I'm waiting for you.
When really you're all just waiting for me.
These clouds lose their silver linings and become nothing more
Than ink blots in the sky bringing a rain to drown me in.
Forcing me to dig into this mud just to find the book of life
So I can break back these clouds and bring the sun again.