It's a sorry state I find you in,
All broken where you would not been.
With daggers on, and steel-to skin
You forget wounds that do not mend.
And I've seen you act this way before.
It's not as fun anymore.
With tired eyes as you cross the floor.
To say goodnight and close the door.
The days and weeks will not be kind
To those who fight the will of time.
To little boys who fantasize
And dream of toys instead of wives.
And it's a saturate I leave you in
-A wicked way, to see it end
Still calling out without a friend.
Remember me, rememeber when.
Comments (1)