Sunday, November 11, 2012

Threading The Fuse

No Farseers

Because tonight,
i'll lack the pen
to yell what i feel at those who'll listen.
The past surrounds me
and i move
with it to darker days.
And the music will ring out and take me back,
to lesser days of lesser pains and running ink.

I'm no killer, but to be an arson would be fun.
Can't i watch sparks fly without getting burned?
But boys who play with fire often leave with hands full of ashes.
Children learn not to touch the stove, but i guess we aren't children.
Those kindergarten songs burned with the bridges we crossed,
wood burns faster than blood,
so we'll build on that and sink to our waists,
but still breathe.
Barely can one ever swim, but it only gets deeper.
So wait an hour or a year, find your heart, cry my dear
in the crimson waters. We'll wade together
but i'll wait if you want.
I'll pour the amber liquid and light the match.
I'll burn down this town to find you.
For i can burn the words, but never the persons.
For this is the song, oh this is the song of Free Arsons.

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