waiting and dreading the hour at which they'll arrive at home
to be hung from the hooks in this abandoned nest called greed.
staring through a keyhole's abrasion, ailing from a never ending dispute.
so i bite down and hold out, watch on from the shadow,
quivering in fear from that shadey yellow light that poured out so much pain.
all of those nights where i just kept dying inside.
each attempt to run choked short by the weights bound and woven to my back,
i'm strapped too tight to breathe and i'm carrying the fucking chains.
why can't i ever sever the ties that prevent my escape.
walls protect the sound not, unwilling its denial,
denial of the speak the senses spoke at each night's dreaded accession.
this alluring silence that breaks as do we.

to find sleep seems a miracle, a miraculous escape
when there's not a pocket of peace to lay between and no one can undo a seam.
i sense a fever that shakes me sick and how those sheets stuck to me then,
still serves as a chilling reminder to those nights full of despair.

clawing for a moment of faith,
craving for some sympathetic strength
to break this world now defeated by a viral disease.
its spinning fairly slower and turned translucently pale.
as the stumbling convalescent reveals the horror that is real.

cutting at its flesh, pulling fervidly at the hopless ornaments hung strung in the air.

nothing left but a tremble in the midst of a passing serenity.
pull the heart valves cause them to carry more than a fair share.
delirous from exhaustion they collapse and crawl,
collapse on a path that descends to a familar hall.

hold the chord, hold the chord that rings,
hold the chord that rings of an ambient triad in affinity.
force the words, force the words to speak,
force the words to speak of the transcribed lyrical elegy.

dreadfully awake as the clock murmurs another hour,
writhing in sheets its our decree (this time he is the first to speak.)
so distant a promise, a promise unkept.
now i'm the child born to suture the wounds of a mother that wept in her failures.
she hurries to clean up the evidence.
removed by a blade, yeah now she's cut from the frame.
forever in memory will that frame hang.

the water that washes us, poisons us quicker.
and with the long awaited end to the most precious of lives
comes an early demise from a fountain and its struggle to replenish my long lost vitality.
thus this battered self, thus that discarded disguise.
here we lay, pulled apart and on display.
the storm has swollen the river, the river of the warned.
and we're taking it down by the mouthful through forceful swallows.
the concentrate to this confusion is blessed upon confession and stopped from seeping in.
please make silence, please make peace.