East Of The Wall Whiskey Sipper
Step back, put your weapons away. I’m going on alone.
In time, as your mercy decays, we’re left to dissolve.
If I was suffering, I’d cut the ties that were never
meant to bind. But I’m so tired now.
So you’re talking in rhyme. The rhythm escapes you.
Don’t ask for more. Forgot all your lines, let it erase
you. Don’t ask for more.
Applause has the worth of it’s bearer. The cheers will
bleed through with the laughter.
Loose with fast hands, and fumbling into a rough noose.
I’ve fitted better knots, but not without precious
time. For some jobs cheap will do. Stole through weak
locks, and often into a den of wolves. I’ve heeded
caution some, but often not every time. For some jobs
cheap will do.
Step back, put your weapons away. I’m going on alone.
In time, as your mercy decays, we’re left to dissolve.
Bind my hands. We’ll settle this.
Let the light, let the fire be forged on some higher
peak. When you pass me by, let the flaming torch you
carry rain down searing.
This chemical let’s me breathe as carefully we plot our
wars that never have an ending. The grievances you laid
on me, spoken many times before, never were about me.
Loose with fast hands, and fumbling into a rough noose.
I’ve fitted better knots, but not without precious
time. For some jobs cheap will do. Stole, frequent,
through weak locks of passers by, and often into a den
of wolves. I’ve heeded caution some, but often not
every time. For some jobs cheap will do.
