Maria, what are you hesitating for
with all this stress to assimilate
and you'll just be ignored.
But if you want to stand there, staring at the front door, my sympathy is waiting on the porch.
I think that you are an angel, you think that I am a thief, but if you shine your light, I won't steal the heat.
Just once more, put your hand up to my chest, it's these tiny moments of chaos that I like best.
Still, what are expectations for, when everything's been said or done and just relapses in different forms.
I feel like wishing these nurses knew, what death is really transmitted through, Maria my courage exists for you.
Recovery has been misplaced when every siren still resonates.
In these sober seconds, when you're seeing me clear, everything I want just dissapears, and they're operating on my one remaining fear.
Track Name: Assassins
Dressed like assassins making cameos in camouflage. Keep your head down in the trenches, never pick yourself up again. We hardly know why we're here and we can't tell our enemies from our friends. Bind us up and tie us down, but please keep us unbound. It sounds off like a minor in the making. Dressed like assassins, turning metaphors to similes. Strut in stacotos, stuttering hyperbole. Through lenses, telescopes and binoculars we can hardly see who you are. His drunken dialog hums like pay phone dialtone. It sounds off like a minor in the making. Dressed like assassins parading through the underbrush. Take your stillframe snapshots to reclaim the rush. March in a straight line. Keep a straight face at all times. Bend your will, but never change your mind. Fourteen years. It sounds like a minor in the making.
Track Name: Grey, or...
You had this notion as wind blew through trees that bad things eventually happen in threes. The more I assured you that things wouldn't change, the more I resented the lost and the strange. Help me close this window, help me shut this door, before the malathion, before the agent orange. Creep inside this body because it messes up my day. The sky is getting cloudy, the sky is getting grey. Lonliness loses to a lost sense of hope while carefully tying four knots in a rope. A handwritten letter, a shower rod prayer to anyone who'll listen, to anyone who'll care. Hold me for forever and talk to me the way you used to speak to Peter, you used to speak to Faye. The lights are growing dimmer, that were showing me the way. I feel I'm getting older, I feel I'm getting grey. This is all or never. The curtains on the window and the blankets on the bed create a sudden contrast and a lovely shade of red. If this is all I'm getting, if these are final days, I'm looking how I'm feeling, at least I'm wearing grey.