Tall Tales from a Lonely City.
Now we weave in and out of lives and traffic
With our hearts protected like a stolen relic.
Wishing we could be part of the bigger fabric
More than transparent but falling short of thick.
And everyone we see becomes a thoughtless pick
To be the broken hero we all try to mimic.
He is a spirit, invisible and weary
Existing only through mouth and memory.
Drifting through walls anonymous,
Leaving graffiti marks that might be made famous
As an unassuming backdrop to a photograph,
Immortalized not as a human but only a half.
Wide asleep in a static womb
Pleading for a truth in a digital tomb.
The kind of truth that sets me free
Not of what I can do but what I choose to be
To awaken me to roam the streets again
And haunt all those I call foe and friend.
I stare into my eyelids as I sew them shut
The fairy dust intoxicate my deepest cut
And fall into a trance of euphoria and pain
Raising these vein-swollen arms to attain
That piece of paradise that eluded me since
You tore my heart out into a nest of pins.
Valium appeases the wrath of a restless slumber
As light and black stream in moving steel chambers.
Placing his fragmented mind on the subway tracks
Praying the coming and going would make an amnesiac
But even if the insomnia does come to pass
Some mistakes will forever last.
More than just words strung together
These are memoirs of little spots of bother.
Coming from voices of the desolate and the lonely
Not asking for your immersion or lofty sympathy
But rather a prophecy fulfilled to na�ve men
That God has long forsaken this concrete wasteland.