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Tops Down
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Spunky Fresh The whispering eyes
only you can hear
And all the air you tend to hate presents itself as mirror
You define yourself as seared
Into slices so sincere
As they try
with all their lies
To conquer their own fears.
I try and merge with shadows
Cold, yet so secure
Feeling false yet so familiar
Once the trust becomes a blur
Ah, that running dialogue
Tongue in cheek
With words stressed out
Clenching teeth
With open mouth.
Not always should the sane
be considered right
Finding a place
which you do not belong
Will only twist the knife
If its what you want, it is probably wrong
When faith is put in being strong
That numbing ache
The crowd so fake
Your clouded lenses
Fueling common mistakes
Not the stable road
that you may think
Just a dreary, misleading mirage
Holding breath to sink
parking dead cars
In that lonely garage.
