It’s too comfortable to write In light so bright my sarcasm wont bite
So I’d rather wax intellectual in the freezing cold Let my icy lungs **** In some tar and I’ll Hold everything I say As True
If only we could compile clues We’d see All the bodies we buried to be moderately happy But still I’ve done worse things While eye’s rolled in the back of their heads
Averting your vision Can be the only tactic in your book Of smarmy one liners That all seem to be blunt remarks about my size Which is fine Worse things have been said During diner conversations We counted off the ways in music how we’d be a bonnie and Clyde
And if the220 razor wires grins sewed of mouths off cheating friends 88 sharp teeth gleaming, of devilish plots we were scheming 52 white knuckles clenched over getaway cars, or benches in parks watching false stars 36 black stares something about face mauling and bears, but I didn’t care that we only had 7 seconds to make it out with the money 5 eye’s wide open to ceiling fans or a lack their of 1 reason to wake up
And in such a way we could be writing pings on sound recorders put it just goes silent with the senseless bashing of fists on porcelain/.
but in the end we can only hope it means nothing or as empty as air or as simple as breathing