Holding my own here,
lost amdist these questions
I feel so conflicted, so confused
and so abandoned
Still got my head up my ass,
but I turned the other cheek
you got to know my unasked question,
why won't you tell me?
Does it have to be so horrible?
The story's so cliche, it's played
in my head a million times.
Does it have to be so damn poetic?
And I was the one who once told you
that you should read between the lines.
In so many ways
that night was the planted seed:
it acted as a pinch
to wake up a part of me.
And yet in how many ways
did that night plant the seed?
Sometimes I do the math
and one and one could make three.
Years later,
and the dreams are still turning,
the feeling still burning
deep in the core of me
and I want to ask the question,
but I'm scared of your reaction
you might ask, and I wouldn't know,
would `yes' change anything?
Maybe you shouldn't tell me,
maybe I shouldn't ask.
Maybe you just ran away.
Maybe I just turned my back.
Maybe this is the way
the story should end:
no questions, no answers,
no old wounds opened,
theories and interpretations
lost in my fiction
where stories are told and
the truth's irrelevant
because the truth
is known by you
and you never said anything
and I'd just be paranoid
to think you'd never tell me.
So here's my ficiton
in a strange land without restriction
lost to quick answers,
good reason and simplicity.
Any similairty between people,
alive are dead, are coincidental --
or maybe just non-local, fucked-up
webs of synchronicity.
But does it have to be so horrible?
The story's so cliche, it's played
in my head a million times
Does it have to be so damn poetic?
I was the one who once told you
that you should take the time to
read between the lines.
Holding my own here,
lost amdist these questions
I feel so conflicted, so confused
and so abandoned.
Still got my head up my ass,
but I took a peek beyond the cheeks
and I've got a hard question, but
maybe you shouldn't tell me,
maybe I shouldn't ask.
Maybe you just ran away,
maybe I just turned my back.
Maybe this is the way
the story really should end:
no questions, no answers,
no positions to defend.
lost amdist these questions
I feel so conflicted, so confused
and so abandoned
Still got my head up my ass,
but I turned the other cheek
you got to know my unasked question,
why won't you tell me?
Does it have to be so horrible?
The story's so cliche, it's played
in my head a million times.
Does it have to be so damn poetic?
And I was the one who once told you
that you should read between the lines.
In so many ways
that night was the planted seed:
it acted as a pinch
to wake up a part of me.
And yet in how many ways
did that night plant the seed?
Sometimes I do the math
and one and one could make three.
Years later,
and the dreams are still turning,
the feeling still burning
deep in the core of me
and I want to ask the question,
but I'm scared of your reaction
you might ask, and I wouldn't know,
would `yes' change anything?
Maybe you shouldn't tell me,
maybe I shouldn't ask.
Maybe you just ran away.
Maybe I just turned my back.
Maybe this is the way
the story should end:
no questions, no answers,
no old wounds opened,
theories and interpretations
lost in my fiction
where stories are told and
the truth's irrelevant
because the truth
is known by you
and you never said anything
and I'd just be paranoid
to think you'd never tell me.
So here's my ficiton
in a strange land without restriction
lost to quick answers,
good reason and simplicity.
Any similairty between people,
alive are dead, are coincidental --
or maybe just non-local, fucked-up
webs of synchronicity.
But does it have to be so horrible?
The story's so cliche, it's played
in my head a million times
Does it have to be so damn poetic?
I was the one who once told you
that you should take the time to
read between the lines.
Holding my own here,
lost amdist these questions
I feel so conflicted, so confused
and so abandoned.
Still got my head up my ass,
but I took a peek beyond the cheeks
and I've got a hard question, but
maybe you shouldn't tell me,
maybe I shouldn't ask.
Maybe you just ran away,
maybe I just turned my back.
Maybe this is the way
the story really should end:
no questions, no answers,
no positions to defend.
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