foul weather friends creep in with the clouds
misery keeps company on the inside looking out
    “i’d pull all the teeth from your open mouth
before i’d ever let you frown”
it's all gore from here on out
heavensent friends descend from the clouds
hiding fangs behind kind hands
you can hardly hide your smiles
    “i’d rather see the frown torn from your mouth,
than ever think i’d let you down”
friends from above, keeping me from looking up
i can’t ever be like them if i don’t learn to stomach blood
    “you could be happy, smiling with all your teeth -
but then why would you need me?”

Tell me, which is harder.
Waiting for something you know will never be in your cards,
or having to come with the terms that it will never happen.