I wrote this while listening to The Postal Service. I feel slightly light headed now.


God from the Answering Machine

Had to second guess
What would be the best time
To record our dreams and
Make them heard without
People listening

And when
When will you decide
That suicide is dead and
Gone with all the other
Songs I wrote you sitting
On the side

You won't see me waiting from
Up above, bring me light
You'll plead
But I can't find you if you don't
Come looking
For me

And how
How are you to deal
With the things you're meant to feel under
The pressure and the steam
That makes it look like I
Am nothing but a dream

Your siblings, mom and dad
Could you say that you were
Sad to see their ghost give
Up and leave you with
All the things you
Wish you had

And I
I can see your face
In the greyness of the human
Race but I can't tell you
Where to hide your
Head from the hard innocence
Of grace

They won't see us hidden in
All this smoke
We'll find you, they'll cry
But if you bring a mirror we can
Catch their back
Escape their
Black lies

And when
When will you believe
That I'm not just a piece
Of clay you fashioned from
The souls left broken
While you lay there yesterday

I'm here
Where evil can't help fear
Where darkness dares not
Near its blinded head and
Wishes you and I were
Falling to our deaths

They won't see you flying with
My blue wings
Look under, they'll scream
I'll catch you if you fall and
You'll see I'm not
A dream . . .


Please review.