Your voice is ragged from all the singing
Screaming empty prayers at the ceiling
Its a raspy thing thats course and thick
But flows like water over me
Like your hands
Who have done too much hitting
Too much running
Too much bouncing off walls
To ever be innocent

Your voice holds a note of constant misery in it
Like the eyes of bereaved parents
Or the voice of people suffering from chronic back pain
Neck pain
Leg pain

Its the sound of a thousand setting suns
All at once
Different colors
You’ve done too much singing boy
Too much running, partying, working playing
Too much living boy
Too much livin’

Your voice has a hint of irritability in it
Something dark in colour
thick like syrup
sour like lemons
Your voice has a taste of bitterness in it
Man-child boy, farmer kid
A sense of stability
Certainty about it
Its a statement to all of the things you have lost

And hey you're still livin'