| Everything that isn’t from my time and place
|
| Just fades away
|
| And I know it’s only my perception
|
| That clouds the things I want to hear you say
|
| All the years of desperation
|
| I’m like a child without the sense to dream
|
| About a life of foolish pride
|
| How can I illustrate
|
| Annihilate it now
|
| This is everything I am
|
| But is it all you’ve ever grown to see inside
|
| Like a broken mirror for my pride
|
| And there’s an emptiness I feel
|
| And there’s a silence to my dreams
|
| These painful reveries
|
| Still punctuate those tragedies I’ve seen
|
| Nobody promised that I’d be down
|
| It’s like the savage side we’ve found
|
| Conventions we’ve agreed to follow
|
| Defined by safe obscurity
|
| Applications balking at protest
|
| We sequester and words divide
|
| Would I resign if I broke your silence
|
| And trampled myself down inside
|
| And if I hold you in my dreams
|
| How will I recognize your face
|
| And your silent discontent
|
| And will my heroes find me there
|
| In another time and place
|
| Will I regret the time we spent?
|
| And all the symbols we’ve erased
|
| Or the words we never traced |