As you give me the push I find the fall not that tragic
For death does not come from a rubber noose two feet longer then the gallows
We built our homes on stilts to the clouds but found ourselves chipping away at the foundation of our dreams.
Till the flooding river of anxiety at our feet swept us far from ourselves
Breathing in the water of hostile thoughts and scared insufficiently.
Rectify ourselves still living upon the tower of silence just for the exhibitionist thrill.
The black knight and the hangsman
Dancing the century old waltz
Is the noose tied around your neck or mine?