im a five hour fall from an avenue call, cant break apart the sound, theres a sun setting east and a traveling preist, gonna cure my demons now, cause its all over and done before. you can straighten your spine and walk a white line, and boast a confidence shroud, while the face beneath crippled, recedes close to the ground, i found my love in an continental park where the trees are skeletons with out clothes, the sky still gray turned blacker today chemical clouds bellow below, and the light post to me seemed to be a metaphor for something else, the modern circus elite clutterd like leaves under the park bench sitting on top of the world. its hard to manage but i make by with what i can do, when i'll suddenly wish to be alive someday soon. im a poison cough hard to get off, always trying to fall asleep. pushed down a drain of happier days before i met you. i wrote a message down in ink tied to a black book, said "everyone's wrong, i know what to do". then you become what you hate to be.


my finger tips shiver and shake. cant navigate the still cold pain draining out from behind my eyes. no one knows how i fill my holes in a solitary cell. its ok, trying to stay in between chemical reactions, fending off a fall, you go down anyway. running away from anything that knows my name, pushed into a suicide game. alphabet town. red and yellow, gray, avenues. stones cut into place pave the way. sign read edison and elliott, in an midwest summer. it felt like a movie scene from the 50's with ghost in the machinery still. dont let me go there again, it doesnt matter anyway. i know it goes to a dead end but i cant look away. i cant tell myself to become someone who will start changing things with themself. in between the black and white, distored fingers splay across an existentialists fate, you can make it for yourself connected some how across the horizon to someone who keeps whispering an alphabet to you. you know what do to.