This is the sound of a broken road.
It's a dying place by which we built our homes.
If you really need to scream as you feel so alone
Then this truly is a sound for wandering souls.

Oh Tom Sawyer, this is much less fun than you said at first
Your fence is cacophony.
And I see nothing but fields of dying trees.
And cancer sucking life from flowers like a fucking week.
Yeah she's 19 and genuflects to her king
And I've been given a tambourine to play
But I can't find a stage on which to sing.

Drink your songs like poison.
All the food is poison.
Lost in a dying machine
Play me like a tambourine
Against your warm thigh.
A tender sigh.
Gazing in comfort at a gentle sky.
Before my dreams all start to die
I'm staring her eye to eye.

Aren't these strings perpetually bowed?
Aren't these strings ringing an unknown code?
"Adieu" she cried and waved her lily hands.
And I took the road, saw every paving stone.
And I never saw her pretty face again.

Open my eyes.
Draw near the strand.
Open my ears.
Draw near the strand.
All sense erased.
Now it's regained.
Draw near the strand.
Relive the pain.

We don't have our skin or bones.
Kill it. Kill it.
All my thoughts on overload.
Rusty beaches in rusty code.
Kill it.

I remember every face she ever made and every smile that she ever cracked.
I remembrer every time we held each other as we watched it all collapse.
The trees were painted on the sky and the night was glowing blue.
Tom Sawyer was making promises which should've come as a clue.
I remember every time I tried to pull it back and failed on every try.
I remember all the angel hair draping her face and her screaming goodbye.
All the grass that lost its luster. And all the clouds that forebode.
I had nowhere to go so I chose this dying fucking broken road.

This is the sound of a miracle.
Just a small example like a parable.
So if you really need to scream as you feel so alone
Then this truly is a sound for wandering souls.

I got lost in a daydream.

Call a toast.
One last time.
To the dying host.
Like a nursery rhyme.
Raise a glass.
To the tonal facade.
Cheer all night.
For the aural faux pas.
Twist and shout.
Close your eyelids.
Move around.
Like a hungry virus.
Set fire to the wax
And feel the flesh burn.
Tear off your wings like a failing nocturne.

I know she won't ever call.
Pray for watching all them records fall.
I lost my daughter to a white coat spectre.
All the adolescents on binary injectors.

Playing the piano with busted fingers:
I feel sick.