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Here he is, he saves a grin |
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He wants to be the one who doesn't have to sink a level |
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Indiscrete, in his retreat |
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All he needs is just a taste of the bitter pride |
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He held in her name |
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Embrace the solitude of ordinary fucked up state of grace |
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Far away from the days he bared the cross she used to wear |
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In some resolve well aware |
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A little pitiful, a pin up boy they dress in grieving wear |
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Well at ease in consent in the drift of undertow |
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He won't justify the pity from them |
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When he knows....fools in love are arrogant |
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Their sermons cloud his breathing air |
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He's in love with an isolation from emotion |
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Here he is awaiting sentence |
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A fool to think that anyone can escape guilt and anguish |
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A subtlety that can't be learned |
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A subtlety that can't be taught |
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He is caught in the lure of second thoughts |
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He might still care |
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As he settles down well aware |
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Bound in secrecy. His voice will only dignify their fears |
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But sorrow is signified |
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He's well aware of his pride |
