53 Days And Counting...
Hollow screeches in the dead of night
match empty cries heard miles away.
Then comes the tiring of the fights.
Your beloved's tears are here to stay.
Broke a noose; played Russian roulette.
Dropped the pills; cracked a blade.
Broken soul I can't offset
you say that you're too late to save.
It's hard to imagine being done.
To what are you amounting
when you've been gone
53 days and counting?
Nightmares break all senses
because my dreams aren't right with you dead.
I'm surrounded by blue period lenses;
you put my rose coloured glasses to bed.
Too much sunshine and people preaching.
How dare they tell me to smile?
I find their seminars overreaching;
Force myself to choke down their bile.
It's hard to imagine being done.
To what are you amounting
when you've been gone
53 days and counting?
Funeral procession;
I couldn't bear to even know...
My latest futile obsession,
and I still can't let you go.
A coffin is too final for me.
Just let me wallow in your ashes.
I can't imagine you as silent or discreet,
or keeping your cool during that last mad dash.
It's hard to imagine being done.
To what are you amounting
when you've been gone
53 days and counting?
"Arson is fine if you burn the right things"
you always knew the right thing to say...
"Obey the jester, he makes you smile, not the king"
now I can't chase my dictators away.
I don't know how you pulled it off, dear;
buried in silence and the dark.
Not to be seen or heard; invisibility; was your greatest fear.
I wonder if your mommy dearest covered the marks.
It's hard to imagine being done.
To what are you amounting
when you've been gone
53 days and counting?
Horrid dreams of maggots eating out your eyes.
There's nothing left to imagine of you...
Wind takes what remains of your demise;
turns it to dust for the remembering few.
Were you given the mark of purity; a savior and a martyr?
Or were you cast strait down to hell?
Your conscience and demons barter
to control your afterlife as well.
It's hard to imagine being done.
To what are you amounting
when you've been gone
53 days and counting?
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
There's no obstacles left for surmounting.
This is what remains of you and us
after 53 days and counting...
match empty cries heard miles away.
Then comes the tiring of the fights.
Your beloved's tears are here to stay.
Broke a noose; played Russian roulette.
Dropped the pills; cracked a blade.
Broken soul I can't offset
you say that you're too late to save.
It's hard to imagine being done.
To what are you amounting
when you've been gone
53 days and counting?
Nightmares break all senses
because my dreams aren't right with you dead.
I'm surrounded by blue period lenses;
you put my rose coloured glasses to bed.
Too much sunshine and people preaching.
How dare they tell me to smile?
I find their seminars overreaching;
Force myself to choke down their bile.
It's hard to imagine being done.
To what are you amounting
when you've been gone
53 days and counting?
Funeral procession;
I couldn't bear to even know...
My latest futile obsession,
and I still can't let you go.
A coffin is too final for me.
Just let me wallow in your ashes.
I can't imagine you as silent or discreet,
or keeping your cool during that last mad dash.
It's hard to imagine being done.
To what are you amounting
when you've been gone
53 days and counting?
"Arson is fine if you burn the right things"
you always knew the right thing to say...
"Obey the jester, he makes you smile, not the king"
now I can't chase my dictators away.
I don't know how you pulled it off, dear;
buried in silence and the dark.
Not to be seen or heard; invisibility; was your greatest fear.
I wonder if your mommy dearest covered the marks.
It's hard to imagine being done.
To what are you amounting
when you've been gone
53 days and counting?
Horrid dreams of maggots eating out your eyes.
There's nothing left to imagine of you...
Wind takes what remains of your demise;
turns it to dust for the remembering few.
Were you given the mark of purity; a savior and a martyr?
Or were you cast strait down to hell?
Your conscience and demons barter
to control your afterlife as well.
It's hard to imagine being done.
To what are you amounting
when you've been gone
53 days and counting?
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
There's no obstacles left for surmounting.
This is what remains of you and us
after 53 days and counting...