Blood drips slowly through the tubes of my heart, like a lazy plumbers mistake,
I wonder as I listen to the gentle drops is it maybe for my own sake?
Do we all feel love's pain as a stab to the heart, or is that where we normally start?
I hear voices in the night, some cry and others sing
I hear bells in the morning, some dull and others ring.
Everything is a sign of something else, rolling in our head,
maybe we wonder the difference...alive or maybe dead.
Throbbing souls create a drumbeat in harmony and doubt,
those of us so used and done are feeling sadly left out.
The parade will march right by us and leave us at the curb,
like a statue old and worn that we should never ever disturb.
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
Blood drips slowly through the tubes of my heart, like a lazy plumbers mistake,
I wonder as I listen to the gentle drops is it maybe for my own sake?
Do we all feel love's pain as a stab to the heart, or is that where we normally start?
I hear voices in the night, some cry and others sing
I hear bells in the morning, some dull and others ring.
Everything is a sign of something else, rolling in our head,
maybe we wonder the difference...alive or maybe dead.
Throbbing souls create a drumbeat in harmony and doubt,
those of us so used and done are feeling sadly left out.
The parade will march right by us and leave us at the curb,
like a statue old and worn that we should never ever disturb.
Copyright
WHC....02/2014
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