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Album: Track 8 on ExitingARM
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To somehow have it
so that the long arm of all apathy
might sit comfortably free beside the
committed empty hopeful humaned world
Do you take to take...
Or do you make...
What sort of armor can the average man arrange
To disarm their inner additct entirely
To protect them from death adder entirely
Must on half-protect their teeth at all times
From both bludgeon comin and one's own ingenuity...
your gretest takes
Are so the gross and gold flower of gone
So is you so
The man with two red hands and
The world wrung between them
Sing what you mean then
Are the birds even
Running from you
And so what of you
Found your capture
is your laughter
a smoke stack of all omen
your voice like a forever of steps
winding its words in will to a nothing but guess
below you ringing redend hands of fake at a hero's skin's reins
whipping at its hundred head horses of take
(Thanks to Ryan for these lyrics)
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