Aug 2023
Never knowing just what you have, love
It should've been us... or maybe that was just me
But we'll see through tide and shore,
When we sail in with sheets shoal-masted
Even the EITC cant prove anyone still rides with me.
To recognize our shared demise...
Am I living bitter expectation?
Are they better than you?
Are they any better than me?
They... need (songs to keep the weary alert at sea)
They need to be better than we.
In all my songs
I told stories how "she" might end with me
Or probably end me
But are
These just dreams
That still
Let her hurt me
Do
I will let her hurt me
But no
Whisper you're safe
You own your memr'y, and I hope forgetting me cost your faith
Mystical and whimsy
Whose my enemy?
"We" or just "me"
Time is a convenient tragedy
And I play witness to this evening's misery
My inconvenient, always complicit, omnipresent company.
We were never meant to be
We,
Me.
You.
I... half drunk, half hallucinating, half angry - Who can I blame for not being me?
All the same but I maybe somebody.
We were never meant to be recognizable
never meant to be anybody you can acclaim
on the most current, convenient, complicity capitulated captivation of cognitive, but captured and categorized component of your human experience... filed away.
Now I'm
Someone you cant recognize
Me
But now I'm
Almost 40
And its always just been me.
(My father died at 41
who should I have become)
And what do I have to show
a body left too long in the undertow
This decomposing
This wreckage left of me
They... need (songs to keep the weary alert at sea)
They need to be better than we.
If in the last breaths I breathe
My history comes haunting me
There are 8 women I thought could love me
Yet today I can still recall the first
Her name like silver dripping onto silk
How her voice burned in through memories
And she's still here with me
I rode my bike by your house
And the second after, like every second ever after
I painted you inside my head
In characters and costumes that weren't quite your size
But it's my lie
The rest of this story, and I am sorry will drive you into a never ending loop of pity and tragedy and only one of us gets out alive...
We'll see if you can find any reference of me in three years.
This wreckage left of me
Maybe I'm somebody.
But no
Whisper you're safe
You own your memr'y, you own forgetting me
Mystical and whimsy
Or are "we" my enemy
Maybe just "me"
And what do I have to show
a body left too long in the undertow
This decomposing
This wreckage left of me
It should've been us... or maybe that was just me
But we'll see through tide and shore,
When we sail in with sheets shoal-masted
Even the EITC cant prove anyone still rides with me.
To recognize our shared demise...
Am I living bitter expectation?
Are they better than you?
Are they any better than me?
They... need (songs to keep the weary alert at sea)
They need to be better than we.
In all my songs
I told stories how "she" might end with me
Or probably end me
But are
These just dreams
That still
Let her hurt me
Do
I will let her hurt me
But no
Whisper you're safe
You own your memr'y, and I hope forgetting me cost your faith
Mystical and whimsy
Whose my enemy?
"We" or just "me"
Time is a convenient tragedy
And I play witness to this evening's misery
My inconvenient, always complicit, omnipresent company.
We were never meant to be
We,
Me.
You.
I... half drunk, half hallucinating, half angry - Who can I blame for not being me?
All the same but I maybe somebody.
We were never meant to be recognizable
never meant to be anybody you can acclaim
on the most current, convenient, complicity capitulated captivation of cognitive, but captured and categorized component of your human experience... filed away.
Now I'm
Someone you cant recognize
Me
But now I'm
Almost 40
And its always just been me.
(My father died at 41
who should I have become)
And what do I have to show
a body left too long in the undertow
This decomposing
This wreckage left of me
They... need (songs to keep the weary alert at sea)
They need to be better than we.
If in the last breaths I breathe
My history comes haunting me
There are 8 women I thought could love me
Yet today I can still recall the first
Her name like silver dripping onto silk
How her voice burned in through memories
And she's still here with me
I rode my bike by your house
And the second after, like every second ever after
I painted you inside my head
In characters and costumes that weren't quite your size
But it's my lie
The rest of this story, and I am sorry will drive you into a never ending loop of pity and tragedy and only one of us gets out alive...
We'll see if you can find any reference of me in three years.
This wreckage left of me
Maybe I'm somebody.
But no
Whisper you're safe
You own your memr'y, you own forgetting me
Mystical and whimsy
Or are "we" my enemy
Maybe just "me"
And what do I have to show
a body left too long in the undertow
This decomposing
This wreckage left of me
