i never want to see you
in the raw and searing flesh
i don't ever want to hear you
singing softly to the dead
i never want to feel your skin
running warm along my side
i don't ever want to sink that way again
it would be easier to die
to die
i'm tending the parts of my frustrations
burning leaves on buried dreams
kneeling in to rake the ashes
i'm in the rain, it's colder out
my hands are free,
my lungs are proud
your forgivness is a failing fiction
your forgivness is a failing fiction
these flames have never burned so high
i won't be starting in your eyes
i'm trying hard to remember
the way the smoke drifts through the air
we'll all be dead come november
four months out of every year
every year
(every year)
i won't be staring in your eyes
every year
