You hold to the ropes above our heads,
on any little rash decision You think of.
It feels good to be able to breathe again,
but for a lark, it can all end with me dead.
Run heavily draped through the hot sand,
eat what You leave me that isn’t poison.
A stone in my mouth so I won’t burn away,
I am starting to like my chances today.
She puts her hands out toward the cutting blades,
he takes out a brand new bottle and throws it in the trash,
she’s on her knees seemingly without any more choices,
he doesn’t bother to listen to crazy children’s stories.
The trees rock as You tear across this land,
massive fists plunging anyone that doesn’t understand.
As long as You don’t ever go back on Your words,
because nobody is going to be able to challenge them.
You wrap Your wiry arms about my throat,
and You beg me to put up a better fight of it.
You can’t let me down by now showing Your face,
and You also have no other words of wisdom.
He stands his ground on the mean end of Your rage,
she waits out the storm by ignoring all the bad acting,
he hates what he is, but sees little other compensation,
she holds on to herself without caring for what’s imagined.
You have many to purchase, but Your pockets are empty,
and You aren’t listening that the free market is closing.
You had Your rules captivating for centuries now being questioned,
and You now hear the crash with not one stone upon another.
Sharwrong's Song 