Wax On Radio Today I Became A Realist
the sad face of dreamers,
waking to the life that passed them by.
they follow forever
the flame that holds their eyes.
they march in place,
straight to their graves.
they fold their hands,
whispers in the air.
what fills our eyes is what makes our lives,
as they kick the dust just to remember light
the poorly drawn believers,
fading in the towing of the tide.
they sink here forever,
stark as stone inside.
they insure their names,
in spots on graves,
in idle hands of idle days.
at the red sunrise,
we all realize,
what fills our days is what becomes our lives.
sail on quick. fly past the world. find me a love (x7)
