These years pass
in snow flurries as true worries crash.
My time constricts with this room.
and we're fed lies with a silver spoon.

Every day is slow motion,
speeding silhouettes.
Some call it the pre-sleep blues
of sky turned shallow towards the moon.

I burned these pages, watched them dancing in the flames.
Heated years of heated spirits.
"So much cash but what to do with it?"
Starved attention feeds the hungry magazines;
heros piling on the sidelines,
rotten graves read "Here we lie" tonight.

How do you wake up with closed eyes
caught sleeping in the labels of the crossed lines?
Why walk into the headlights with
a sleeping voice turned dawn to rust
of Eden's highway turned aside?

I've raised my glass, lost my will,
not to toast, but to refill.
Escaped through the fire escape,
the wishes I once knew ran away.

If you clean my phrases with this soap,
would the suds align my throat
and make me speak of innocence
in your perfect terms of censorship?

The pretty heros with the guns at their sides:
pointed barrel, pointed finger
to the words of the lead singer.
It's not an accident if it's homicide.
Bullets turn to silver cries,
golden graves read "Here we lie" tonight.

How do you wake up with closed eyes
caught sleeping in the labels of the crossed lines?
Why walk into the headlights with
a sleeping voice turned dawn to rust
of Eden's highway turned aside?

I burned these pages, watched them dancing in the flames.
Heated years of heated spirits.
"So much cash but what to do with it?"
Starved attention feeds the hungry magazines;
heros piling on the sidelines,
rotten graves read "here we lie" tonight.