When comfort hides in distant things
And all is said through cans and string
You haunt the dreams that sleep would bring,
If only sleep would come to me.
If only photographs could speak.
Just give me something to believe,
Here on these streets.
But I can recall,
How the air felt,
In the fall,
When I was well.
Have I been wrong about how we've evolved?
How can I be myself when they're auctioning my soul.
Choking on the taste.
On the sound and the shape.
On this mistake.
Oh, the things that they'll say,
All of the angles they'll play,
I'll escape.
Don't say that you're not awake to save what your hands have made.
I won't pretend that we're safe.
