Into It. Over It. No Amount Of Sound
Footsteps,
they followed mother's death
They followed suit and peeled the paint off the walls
Behind a metal desk inside a modern mausoleum
you have found your calling, calling for fall
No amount of sound
could make us fade the way you're fading now
Lost way,
current emotional states
left folding gold under a fluorescent light
It's a touch agoraphobic,
I suggest a catatonic height
but hypochondriac's suggestion weight
I held your hand
I drew a line in the sand
I couldn't bare to think your losing your mind
But when the red flags bolted up is when your outlook started shifting
Just a shift requires valued time
You need to write this down
No amount of sound
could make us fade the way you're fading now
When will you fade out?
Footsteps,
they followed mother's death
They followed suit and peeled the paint off the walls
