|
1. |
|
|
|
|
a coded message from the end of the night
i've been blinding myself trying to beat out the light
and it's a dangerous thing
to spend the evenings in a state of denial
when the things that you do can be ignored for a while
but can't be ever erased
by just a smiling face
your reputation is a chain on your neck
and you can never redeem if you can never correct
all of the wrongs that you've done
so how can this be fun?
turn to an offer
it's the last thing i remember
and soon when the party ends
and you're alone at last
how will you make amends?
|
|
2. |
|
|
|
|
small hand around my fingertip,
a grip that was fleeting
and i can not find
a word that can describe that same feeling
the picture does not lie:
the future is all knives
up on the screen
the frame contains the contents of our lives
and no plan can stand
the tragedies at hand are just random
then everything goes fast
these rapids can not last
later on we'll go
to a house that's built on stone
where we can rest our heads alone
away from the sharpened knives
later on we'll all live better lives
wash away the ground
was shifting too fast beneath our feet
and i worried so much
but now i know that perfect is not neat
dilemmas upon us
left us with half as much
|
|
3. |
|
|
|
|
last week we couldn't sleep at all
from thoughts of empty beds
in the room at the end of the hall
for three months we flinched at every call
it was a terrible summer
counting days until the start of the fall
but down by the river
lying beneath the trees
staring at the light
burning between the leaves
no one here can ever know our lives
in the isolette
you're so warm and slight
searching for quarters for a parking space
for 89 days we were visitors watching your face
and right now i just want to hold you tight
and say the simple things you say
when you're saying goodnight
but down by the river
lying beneath the trees
staring at the light
burning between the leaves
no one here can ever know our lives
we're waiting here both beside your bed
together but separate
as you sleep in your isolette
|
|
4. |
|
|
|
|
the summer's over, can we breathe at last
we're giving up on sun, but one by one
we knew the days had to pass
we stared at images in black and white
in the picture was a shadow folded into the light
it's just an anxious abstraction
all i ever wanted
was the sound that i have in front of me
(waiting on the sun we waited out the summer)
now we're peeling off the wires
because all alarms have expired
(waiting on the sun we waited out the summer)
now all alarms are off
you're coming back home from the city
weekly visits led to weakened hopes
we could use another month to get off off the ropes
but this is all that we're getting
i measured lines out as they scratched the scrolls
stretched my fingers to the peaks
and marked ten minutes for a week
this was as long as you'd hold them
|
|
5. |
|
|
|
|
fourteen weeks to set my hands at rest
it was a shaky effort, but it was the best that i could do
and while you slept upstairs
i was kicking out the chairs beneath you
and i dont know how you could have chosen these
lives of white lies, blackouts and apologies
and there's so much to lose
there's things that i cannot undo, but now
i won't get lost
i'm yours now
it's autumn and we're home
fourteen weeks to set my hands at rest
it was a shaky effort, but it was the best that i could do
and while you slept upstairs
i was kicking out the chairs, but now
i won't get lost
i'm yours now
it's autumn and we're home
we're his now
it's autumn
and we're home
|
Jan 2010
May 2009
Apr 2006