I’d serve you my own head on a silver platter
There’s no length that I won’t go
But we both know that doesn’t really matter
Pull the wool, spin the yarn, reveal a pattern
A butterfly’s beauty is not what a caterpillar’s after
The cracks in the mirror, a subtle siren
Sunk inside the eyes, an undiscovered island
She sings heart spill, young death, numb and quiet
A mother crying...the son is silent
A lovely violet, a deep crimson uninvited
Withered at the very thought of being uninspired
Empathy via entropy, nothing’s timeless
Shockwaves to your nervous system with something seismic
Nothing shines quite like a former dreamer
The shoulda, coulda, woulda, dim light just sorta lingers
A shiny olympic medal for every non-believer
If you ever see me like that...

I hope it’s down the barrel of your gun
I wouldn’t run
Just pull up, hop out, cock back, and block out the sun
You might be everything, everywhere, ever, but I ain’t the one
I can’t count all the times I been done cus the answer is none

I watched the world crumble through the crack in your voice
Tryna hold up the facade that you have any choice
But, any integrity you had is destroyed
The vestige of your passion and poise— a black void
No love, unwanted, discarded
Chest open, gold stolen, disheartened
I beg your pardon, your silence speaks volumes
I call for you and only get a...
But the ellipsis eclipses any problem it fixes
Broken and open ended, tied together with lip skin
A drip feeding vegetable, an autonomic zombie
You got no room to talk, don’t get claustrophobic on me
Just give me something, I’ll take it or leave it
House of cards, face value, if you say it then mean it
You ain’t gotta take a shovel to the grave of a secret
Just let me close enough to see...

Your finger on the trigger, and that trigger on your uzi weighs a ton
Ooh you better run, baby, run
All those holes you abandoned are plotting to blot out the sun
They’re saying anytime, any place, anything, and I’ll body anyone
So take care, have fun, and don’t call me when it’s all said and done

(I feel fine)

“They give that they may live, for to withhold is to perish”



Produced, written, and recorded by Brion Aiota
© Rough Sleeper

Graveswitch

The Fall Of Rome

Brion Aiota

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