enclosed by our secrets and forbidden desires
freedom seems so far from its initial design
and happiness is some dog that ran away
to stray with the hobos.
that hard to define Sunday morning drunkenness
keeps you awake in the perspective of finding
a happy end to the collective story we’re writing.
our body is pain and our souls are dead
confusion has spread through all that’s alive
and smoke is ripping your lungs every time
a cigarette lights the apartment.
undisclosed secrets pop from the past
smashing your brain or what has remained after the last shot of tequila.
you ask for forgiveness but who’s there to hear
the morning alcoholic shout of a stranger.
who’s the dog in the manger
that now ran away ?
No comments:
Post a Comment