Tilt

Running on empty

I don’t understand

Try as I may I’m

Stuck running in quicksand

 

Ten shots to kill pain

Makes no change in the view

I wonder if ten more will

Somehow make me new

 

Lovers I’ve slain

With words sent on cue

What the hell is the point?

In this life I’ve no clue

 

When I exit these walls

Those around me would think

There could be nothing wrong

They don’t get the link

 

Between mirrors and masks

Looking in, looking out

Thinking, "he’s got a grip"

No question, no doubt

 

Well shit, here’s the funny thing

For those looking in

I’m uniquely ill equipped

I’ve majored in sin

 

So an end would be easy

For those who would know

Just ask the right question

It is buried in sorrow

 
 
copyright r.b.franklin 30/11/05
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