Monday, April 28, 2014
Pull me out of the past
The broken beat has spilled and drained the years of life all lost in age and waiting for the break of thought's persistent weight.
But still the change is less foreseen than planned escape to see the new and now we left in failing taste, a hope for being separate in the blame.
And when we run from life in arms we're looking back as time moves on. A blind beginning we will stake a claim in fear of passing through the shame.
I'm one, I'm over feeling hate. An open chest inviting few. The brave and understanding know to patch the torn and wasted blue.