The time of crisis had us distressing the meaning
of each syllable in our dialect.
Im such a derelict.
The stasis I’m stuck in
had me believing the worst of it all.
Crushing.
Flushing and re-brushing
the paint on the distorted canvas,
which was our lives.
Ten lines and a million problems.
Pay attention to your symbols
never ignore them.
Dreams were made from sinners,
but the streams of time make all things thinner.
All things end in rugged ways.
When the tall bell rings,
only broken brothers stay.
With wretched tales of quarrels,
no barrels of whiskey can calm the bay.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
The time of crisis had us distressing the meaning
of each syllable in our dialect.
Im such a derelict.
The stasis I’m stuck in
had me believing the worst of it all.
Crushing.
Flushing and re-brushing
the paint on the distorted canvas,
which was our lives.
Ten lines and a million problems.
Pay attention to your symbols
never ignore them.
Dreams were made from sinners,
but the streams of time make all things thinner.
All things end in rugged ways.
When the tall bell rings,
only broken brothers stay.
With wretched tales of quarrels,
no barrels of whiskey can calm the bay.
