| The Hand, The Furnace, The Straight Face |
|---|
| Quiet |
| It’s 4 AM |
| I was |
| Sound asleep |
| Trying |
| To hunt the sheep |
| There is a choice |
| Within a voice |
| Lurking somewhere between |
| Hidden parts |
| And facial scars |
| And remnants of the deepest needs |
| I am convinced |
| In sleeplessness |
| That we all need some source of rest |
| Following |
| With frequency |
| Won’t become a place to lay our heads |
| I’ve searched |
| And tried |
| And tumbled in the midst |
| I’ve swallowed pride |
| And nullified |
| What’s left of innocence |
| Reparations |
| Won’t be made |
| We’ll set a precedent |
| Never to late |
| To recreate |
| So here’s your evidence |
| Am I getting through? |
| Is this loud enough? |
| Any means |
| By all extremes |
| This feeling follows action |
| You can take |
| My worst mistakes |
| And use them for excuses |
| Or you can try |
| To realize |
| This vessel’s by itself is worthless |
| The hand |
| The furnace |
| The straight face |
