There is no longer a place that is real.
Not even in my own home do I feel.
Its all cold. As if old man winter has
a hold on the thermostat, and its as if
the window is open and we cant get
it closed because our arms are too busy
holding our knees to our chest and we
cant ever get any rest because at night,
none of this feels right. Its all a little
too big and were a little too small, and
our jump back to reality is more of a fall.
All we want is redemption, but there's
none at all. So we climb up these ladders
that go in reverse, and the song of the
dead is the one we rehearse, and we
swim in the sadness so widely dispersed.
Is there no end to this curse?