There was a picture in my phone of me sleeping ,
i live alone

There's nothing new
about this song
it's all been sung before
I'm just a broken soldier
bleeding from an ancient war

When I came home
there were no crowds
no bands for me did play
I slunk back like a refugee
And now I'm here to stay

Every door
was closed to me
no woman and no lover
to take my hand  to comfort me
to lead my heart to cover

You found me like
some fallen bird
you took me home and said
I feel this pain you carry
now come with me to bed

You took me in
you eased that pain
and soothed me in your arms
outside I heard the sirens scream
inside I learned your charms

You tried your best
to heal my wounds
to get me on my feet
but guilt was far too much for me
I left you for the street

I live alone
in poverty
I guess I'm here for good
there are no saints or saviors
in this fallen neighborhood

But listen to me
if you please
I need to hear your name
to know I'm not completely lost
upon these streets of pain

It's cold it's dark
I'm fevered and
I'm lost in bed alone
I never was much good at love
too weary to the bone

I need to kiss
your shining eyes
but you are far away
and I am caught so far from you
upon this lonely day

You were much
too good for me
my dark relentless lies
too good to see the enemy
within my felon eyes

I thank you
for your comfort
your body and your heart
the way you shared your bed with me
forgave me from the start

There's nothing new
about this song
it's all been sung before
I'm just a broken soldier
bleeding from an ancient war

Every time the butterflies come,
they crawl up my throat and start to choke me
but it's a good kind of choking,
like scratching an inch even though it makes the rash burn
or liking the pain of dotted blood lines on my skin
after a long day of holding in monsoons and earthquakes
beneath calm serenity.

Or like telling myself I can never get better
even if a part of me knows, knows I can.
It’s like deciding never to speak again,
or stop eating just because you can.

And why is it that pain tastes so much like love
when I willingly dress myself in it,
yet someone lays a finger on me
and I feel the same way
when my friends are mistreated
and animals are abused,
I feel a surge of fierce hatred
throughout my whole body
and don’t you ******* touch me
ever again.

I believe the world can be better than this.
And what does that say about me?
Does it make me a hypocrite in a sort of vague way?
Because I keep wondering
if I do things without thinking
that another me would hate me for.

I watched,
as the stars in your eyes,
dwindled.
One by one,
they burned out into emptiness.
The void consumed our universe.

I felt,
as the warmth in your touch,
turned to stone.
With every stroke,
you left frost upon my skin.
Your ice soon circulated through my veins.

I listened,
as the music in your voice,
withered toward
detachment.
Every word became a reminder.

And I tasted,
as all the sugar on your lips
and the honey on your tongue,
went sour.
Every kiss held hints of decay.

Oh, the days are long,
and the nights are cold.
Maybe I'm just growing old,
but it seems to me,
that we have lost control.

We will carry on,
and play our hand.
Some will even make a stand.
And if they fall
it's all part of the plan.

Fear
Distrust
Bad blood
More blood
Bitten dust
Angry eyes
Lots of eyes
Story fires
History bleeds
Baltimore streets
Burn in madness
When asked how we should mourn him
Freddie didn’t speak