| I will build myself a home
|
| Out of the cinders and the dust
|
| I won’t surface for a year
|
| I’ll drink rainwater from my cup
|
| And I will dream a whole new scenery
|
| So far from what I love
|
| To see myself in dreams just standing
|
| Staring at these doors long shut
|
| And I will count my fucking blessings
|
| That I am even here at all
|
| And I’ll take comfort in each misery
|
| I’ll cherish each stumble, each fall’s
|
| A little closer to the beginning
|
| To the start of every song
|
| That sleeps so silent in your chest
|
| That sleeps so silent in your soul
|
| And I won’t pray for you
|
| I won’t long for your safe return
|
| And I won’t pine for you
|
| I won’t wait to be told to run
|
| I will suffocate all notion
|
| Of an existence without this
|
| I will negate an understanding
|
| Between free will and realising
|
| That anything I had ever prayed on
|
| Anything I had ever loved
|
| Was just the echo of some other
|
| That I swore I’d never touch
|
| And I will call myself an army
|
| And I will call myself a king
|
| And I will never love another
|
| I won’t recall a single thing
|
| And I won’t pray for you
|
| I won’t long for your safe return
|
| And I won’t pine for you
|
| I won’t wait to be told to run |