Two sides, four faces.
A god of some type, enraged.
Three eyes open, five hearts broken.
How the man who taught me morals
Went astray . . .
and I can't help him.
He won't let me teach him
The very same things
That he taught me
So I breathe through the filthy air!
Reminds me of a home;
One that is now liquified.
How bitter it is to swallow fire . . .
I trail through the tracks;
A horse amidst a mess of baggage.
Unsaddled;
To trot on
Into the fine truths of this world,
This one we call our abode.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
Two sides, four faces.
A god of some type, enraged.
Three eyes open, five hearts broken.
How the man who taught me morals
Went astray . . .
and I can't help him.
He won't let me teach him
The very same things
That he taught me
So I breathe through the filthy air!
Reminds me of a home;
One that is now liquified.
How bitter it is to swallow fire . . .
I trail through the tracks;
A horse amidst a mess of baggage.
Unsaddled;
To trot on
Into the fine truths of this world,
This one we call our abode.
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