Map
The creases, the Furrows
Dripping Shadows on an old Man's plate.
If I knew what they said; where they came, where they led?
They whisper to you,
Ravelled dents on your skin, that wont Iron out.
The flesh and the trenches of a boy brought to war
with the ones stained with Fate,
And the laminate meanings they draped on your way.
If they knew how their harsh tounge could lash at the space, that was once smooth with hope and a yearning for more
and now the dark web spreading its way
- every ill gotten mood, every hate that you feel
on every inch of your face.
The creases, the Furrows
Dripping Shadows on an old Man's plate.
If I knew what they said; where they came, where they led?
They whisper to you,
Ravelled dents on your skin, that wont Iron out.
The flesh and the trenches of a boy brought to war
with the ones stained with Fate,
And the laminate meanings they draped on your way.
If they knew how their harsh tounge could lash at the space, that was once smooth with hope and a yearning for more
and now the dark web spreading its way
- every ill gotten mood, every hate that you feel
on every inch of your face.
