you say you're gonna "make it"
but what does that even mean?
you and your cotton-candy dreams
that disappear with a lick of damp and heat,
and all that's left is a lonely sticky sweet
that is sour at the seams.
those rainy days you slept away
are coming back a darker grey
and no feathers and fires can delay
the wet-wash with your name
(on bold display)
ingrained in those blue sky-veins.
so you're gonna run,
run, run, right out of here
still in your halloween gear;
you're gonna make it,
you're gonna make it work.
no matter the mess
you leave behind;
you step in line,
line up for the line up --
(one step forward, two steps into the clay;
breaking away is falling away.)
who says "making it" is making it right?
who says "losing it" is failing to fight?
(you've been faking it right from the get go
and those rainclounds still know.)