|
make me vent at the knees |
|
i've got a phantom lung better than the other |
|
more like the broach you wore with apocryphal insignia |
|
it was better left untouched |
|
it was better left alone |
|
for the hour of my echo is at hand |
|
do you feel that respiration? |
|
it's blocking out the sky |
|
now there's no light to be shed on this painful labor |
|
walking with my old limp that resonates your ego |
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when i feel the resignation of my limbs |
|
you rode in on a horse |
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but wouldn't form a tryst |
|
saw you ride in on a horse |
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but you couldn't be convinced |
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tell your brother's keeper that he's in an awful mess |
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tell your zealous mother to spay her tongue |
|
tell your brother's keeper his cuts are somewhat of a nuance |
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when that zealous mother bleeds for everyone |
|
now you feel that respiration |
|
it's blocking out the sky |
|
leaving no light to be shed on this painful labor |
