Its what calloused hands can't touch.
The itch fingers can't dig their way to.
The harder you try and breathe,
the quicker you suffocate,
so let it come and go.
Feeling like a dead and dried leaf
leftover from autumn,
swirling and pining away
in a brutal, bitter winter wind,
lost in the vicious, novocane hands of chaos
has got to beat being buried
six feet deep below
that ice, right?
Somehow find I'm lost around
that place where I was found.
Still unable to connect here.
Still morbidly wallow in my fear
save for forbidden nights of soft caress.
Still a boy hiding in an aging man.
Still totally unable to be who I am,
save for moments in dark and primal sex.
I still fear my split will never heal,
that I'll only find an antidote here with you
and never center on my soul
and be complete on my own,
so I don't suck the life out of you or anyone
so I can bring back to life and truly belong.
I still fear my split will never heal,
that I'll only find an antidote here with you,
that I've somehow weakened even further,
tripping on the line between life and murder.
But I still believe life can be
more than just slow suicide or
stepping on the accellerator,
my brain should spew fourth action
into the lips of life, but I'm just
a chronic masturbator.
The itch fingers can't dig their way to.
The harder you try and breathe,
the quicker you suffocate,
so let it come and go.
Feeling like a dead and dried leaf
leftover from autumn,
swirling and pining away
in a brutal, bitter winter wind,
lost in the vicious, novocane hands of chaos
has got to beat being buried
six feet deep below
that ice, right?
Somehow find I'm lost around
that place where I was found.
Still unable to connect here.
Still morbidly wallow in my fear
save for forbidden nights of soft caress.
Still a boy hiding in an aging man.
Still totally unable to be who I am,
save for moments in dark and primal sex.
I still fear my split will never heal,
that I'll only find an antidote here with you
and never center on my soul
and be complete on my own,
so I don't suck the life out of you or anyone
so I can bring back to life and truly belong.
I still fear my split will never heal,
that I'll only find an antidote here with you,
that I've somehow weakened even further,
tripping on the line between life and murder.
But I still believe life can be
more than just slow suicide or
stepping on the accellerator,
my brain should spew fourth action
into the lips of life, but I'm just
a chronic masturbator.
