"Hear that sound? That's the drive shaft"
Rather, it's a life raft
That you and your wife are flouting
What's that about, the silence shouting?
When is something dead?
Do you know it in your head?
Your mind? Something left behind?
Perhaps if we could just rewind
We'd find the answer
Love, laughter, principally pain,
Are all consequences of the insane
Its archaic definition we all know
But never googled, so we don't really know
Shouting silence, so deafening in the car
Past the idiots and the ******** traveling far
To our right and our left, you
Keep critizing til we've all left you
All on the precipice of that becoming
Me, your wife, your children, yourself
We're all left with that one thing:
Watching you in your hell
But there's no writhing, just acceptance
No attempting to better, just acceptance
No trying of any kind, just complacent
No emotions being expressed, just complacent
How is anything real to you?
Where is your baseline?
Can love be real to you?
Can it be experienced at the same time
As nonexistence and complacency?
Is there anything in between
Those two terrible extremes?
It's where his life is to be
And his wife and their marriage as it dies
In the car ride to the son's house with their other son behind
The driver seat where the driver shaft yells out
And speaks louder than either of your marital doubts
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
"Hear that sound? That's the drive shaft"
Rather, it's a life raft
That you and your wife are flouting
What's that about, the silence shouting?
When is something dead?
Do you know it in your head?
Your mind? Something left behind?
Perhaps if we could just rewind
We'd find the answer
Love, laughter, principally pain,
Are all consequences of the insane
Its archaic definition we all know
But never googled, so we don't really know
Shouting silence, so deafening in the car
Past the idiots and the ******** traveling far
To our right and our left, you
Keep critizing til we've all left you
All on the precipice of that becoming
Me, your wife, your children, yourself
We're all left with that one thing:
Watching you in your hell
But there's no writhing, just acceptance
No attempting to better, just acceptance
No trying of any kind, just complacent
No emotions being expressed, just complacent
How is anything real to you?
Where is your baseline?
Can love be real to you?
Can it be experienced at the same time
As nonexistence and complacency?
Is there anything in between
Those two terrible extremes?
It's where his life is to be
And his wife and their marriage as it dies
In the car ride to the son's house with their other son behind
The driver seat where the driver shaft yells out
And speaks louder than either of your marital doubts
No notes. Just interpret however you like.
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