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Dark Part Of Your Heart

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Roller Girl

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Post Malone, Sia – Hold Me in the Storm

AFTER ALL (WE WERE HERE)

The Gospel of the Divided Tongue

My man's got sermons in his hands,
A carpentry of touch and grace.
He builds a temple where I stand,
But speaks in code I can't embrace.
He holds the hammer, sharp and true,
The language of the finished wall.
I need the gospel wet with dew,
The silent vow before the fall.
I was born a lexicon of tears,
He’s fluency in stoic steel;
We stand on shores of different years,
And cannot speak the way we feel.

Take me to the pulpit of his mind,
Where all his deepest meanings lie.
He offers me the honest kind
Of love that I can't testify.
He uses stone and I use silk,
He offers labour, I need prayer.
We drink the same unholy milk,
But share a silence in the air.
And every time we try to teach
The syntax of our warring hearts,
We fail to bridge the fatal breach
That pulls our separate worlds apart.

He leaves a note pinned to the oak,
A list of things he fixed today.
For him, that's every word he spoke,
His promise written clear as day.
He sees the mended, solid door,
He thinks he’s said "I love you" best.
But I still search the metaphors
Hidden inside his sleeping chest.
I light a candle, soft and low,
A vigil for the words unheard.
He sees the danger of the glow,
And douses it without a word.

Take me to the pulpit of his mind,
Where all his deepest meanings lie.
He offers me the honest kind
Of love that I can't testify.
He uses stone and I use silk,
He offers labour, I need prayer.
We drink the same unholy milk,
But share a silence in the air.
And every time we try to teach
The syntax of our warring hearts,
We fail to bridge the fatal breach
That pulls our separate worlds apart.

If his devotion is the work he does,
Then mine's the music in the space.
We build a kingdom just because,
But cannot name the holy place.
We are the faithful, standing near,
But worshipping two different gods.
The echo of a hidden fear
Is proof that every sentence frauds.

Take me to the pulpit of his mind,
Where all his deepest meanings lie.
He offers me the honest kind
Of love that I can't testify.
He uses stone and I use silk,
He offers labour, I need prayer.
We drink the same unholy milk,
But share a silence in the air.
And every time we try to teach
The syntax of our warring hearts,
We fail to bridge the fatal breach
That pulls our separate worlds apart.

Amen.
The tongue is split.
Amen.
We cannot quit.
Amen.
The gospel's mute.
Amen.
Without the root.

The Gospel of divided tongue by ARGYTACT 2025

The Gospel of divided tongue

Dark Part Of Your Heart

Kim Petras

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