You do a very indigent job,
of hiding that pain in your laughter,
whether trying to exit outside,
pretending to recover your sanity,
or right here in front of my eyes,
I think we may never feel good again.
There’s no door to shut with a knob,
living apart can’t even work for a month,
we’re like two cold poles on the same globe,
sending this volatile middle land into flames,
confusion seems to hint our only solution,
wondering if we remember why we began.
Although these hearts will always manage to throb,
nothing remains true under our divided stories,
disbelief also has its stark comforting hold as usual,
Heaven enters prior to leaving after our climax,
running dry at the foot of a showering rain forest,
what thought once as holy is now quite profane.
Our friends have degenerated far past a mob,
love’s much more than this lacking affection,
closeness must not relate to just body space,
revealing our vast discord across many levels,
hard to cry when our troubles grind this slow,
back from your fire to seek shelter in our pan.
Sharwrong's Song 