the hot sweat
blood returning where
flushed cheeks
and the wet spot
lie quiet and content

It's not what you say
It's how it hits me
It's not how you say it
It's how it stays with me
All in all it comes down to
Its not what you say
It's what you do

All my life I'll remember you
Until I die I'll remember you

It's not what it means
It's what it means to me
It's not how you move
It's how you move through me
All in all it comes down to
It's not how you feel
It's how I feel you

All my life I'll keep on loving you
Until I die I know it's true

Today for breakfast
Coffee and cigarettes
Kept me a fool through the morning
Liquid lunch
A six pack
Still pretty fool
And then denial for dinner
And more beer and cigarettes as dessert
Still somehow
I keep on losing wait

When I was a child
they said I needed Jesus
promised salvation with a cross
violent death bleeding
and my submission
is what it costs.

But now that life
has changed me
and knowledge
seen me transformed
I cannot return
to that garden.
One more reason
I can’t go home.

Every year now, I note the differences:
the changes in the stones,
the retreating car park and what
is new to the waves.
It is slight. You try to hide it by
presenting the same places and
lacing them with memories that
all correspond.
But you are changing.
You take new beatings, and I can't
help but wonder if we are alike.
The process of erosion has caught
us both, and year by year,
cliff by cliff, it's wearing us down.

It was always supposed to happen,
but what if you change too much?
What will happen when you change
irreparably, irreconcilably?
Even now you are only an
imaginary home, so defamiliarized
from the dream I demand.
I know you promised me nothing.
But I had a deal you didn't know about
and you've ceased to make me happy.
I can't help but be a little angry
with you for letting the
storm break you down.

But is it really you, or is it me
who has done the changing?
Is it not my eyes and my erosion?
Is it not the attrition and abrasion
and the long shore drift
that has welled up inside my own soul?
Is it you or I?
How can we know?

i thought that you were heaven sent
i had no idea of the hell you'd bring
thinking of all the time we spent
screaming when we should sing

you left me hurt, left me bent
left me feeling that bitter sting
wondering where the heaven went
struggling with a broken wing