The silence lifts as the soundtrack to his life comes into tune
Cross out yesterday, it's just one X closer
To ripping out this month from the books
And he repeats the process until the sunrise blinds his eyes
And buries him with the moon
This is an autobiography of what it feels like
To feel like your life is made of letters and ink
As the pages turn, we sing to ourselves
Why do these words repeat again and again?
We make dreams of ascending skyscrapers
But the elevator reads "out of order"
So he tries to erase the words
Take to the stairs; Just keep climbing and climbing
And climbing and climbing...
Reach for the clouds; They're as thin as the shadows
That follow our footsteps in the setting sun
Will we ever wake up, will we ever wake up
To the sound of our songs on the radio
But the frequencies ring from the morning alarms
Repeating the X's that cover our calendars
So he falls from the edge against the rising sun
Painting the pavement with a crimson period
This is an autobiography of what it feels like
To feel like your life is made of letters and ink
As the pages turn, we sing to ourselves
Why do these words repeat again and again?
Did he jump or did he fall?
The blood only bares hues of hypotheses
The forensics may never know...
Because he burned his book
With the cigarettes that inked his lungs
Monday, March 31, 2008
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment