Oh me, oh my,
I hate to sound trite,
but I guess in the end
we all die, so
turns out to be true
whatever way.

Oh me, oh my,
I hate to sound trite,
but I could really use
a lullaby.

Great Papa, he left.
Great Mama, so close.
Mama, in the deep end.
Sister, she ghost.

What's love got to do with it?
It just so happens, in my world it's all.
I am conditioned to serve in the name.
No matter how hard servants seek servants,
the wardens and the masters pick up on the scent,
come running over the distant hills to close in on the ****.

I am conditioned to serve in the name.
Here they come running to stake their claim.

An island lets itself go.
In rising  water finds a friend;
The past comes to naught.

I still can’t write about him.
I still can’t say his name.
He is “the guy”.
The guy who ruined my childhood,
The guy who stole not only the safety of my bed,
But the safety in my head.
They tell me not to “let him win” or “give him the power”
But he already has it all.
There is no power left to give.
No game left to be won.
No innocence left to be claimed.
He can look at me, and he will know I’m his.
I’m his.

Please be
more careful with me
Is it okay to say that?
I'm quite uncertain

My teary eyes are sure to
tell me something
about me
Still I'm unsure if
I can trust my own
eyes
the way
I trust you

Certainty
is thruthfully
lying
when I'm not
sure

But I know the reality of
things between you
and me
and the unspoken

And with certainty
I claim
nothing
I certainly can't
claim
you