go back a thousand, go back a million more
see the anguish in their eyes
look for the baked footprints on the bloody shore
what’s a fight, what’s a battle, what’s the meaning of war
if love isn't fueled by passion
and your mouth continually kicks down the door
listen up, listen up, only then will you succeed
talking leads to broken promises
never acquiring what your heart truly needs
you look behind, you look ahead but what about what’s in between
the heaven above, the sin underneath
time is but a vessel that brings forth hidden grief
sell the home
dig out its multifaceted roots
cut down the tree that blossomed
throw away its treasured fruit
is giving up necessarily a bad thing?
what if it wasn’t as great as i thought it was?
are the flames simply dying out?
or was the fuel never there?
and still i sit back watching myself in a sort of comical fiasco
realizing that I’m still pulling flowers
I guess I haven’t given up
and honestly how can i
maybe there’s still some fight left in me