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