Paroles Comfort? de Devar-toi

Textes et Paroles de Comfort?

maybe after i taste the sweet swallow of death,
i'll become something glorious, something for all eyes to see.
stuck and on display, the forced bond between the wake and mourning eyes.
or maybe i'll just become the end twig on a branch in a forgotten lineage.

but how can i be expected to build and maintain this trust,
when as these thoughts occurred to me, i was terrified of my own reflection.

everyday something in my mind starts to attack me.
each idea helps construct the fear that life will leave and brand me unkown.
so heroic when defaced by the hands of tragedy.
so inclined to run when our thought meets and end to comprehension.
its such a chilling uncertainty, the tightened moments before we die.
take a look around and ask, "who will be the first to die?"
all i'm asking for is merely a scratch upon the post.
all i'm dreaming of is existing beyond all perceived existence.
I just want to touch something,
anything tol prove my work to have worth.

finally i found a shelter to hide my fearful mind inside,
sunken across her gaunt shoulders and concealed in the breaths that we shared between stares.
soon we became stealth and dressed in the casket-colored clothes of our surrender.
draped in a robe of eternal decor, we held prepared to endure like a tome.
her eyes gave breath to our whispers.

shamefully a whisper crawls across your floor.
embarassed of its insight, yet its yearning for more.
you offer a shrug as if to say, "i've been there before",
but what reality isn't telling you is that you have never held this stone in your throat before.

i couldn't save you then, our time spent and smeared in finger prints.
i couldn't even speak as the shy of smoke replaced the innocence of mist.
you were far too sick to save, a name marked through redressed by a solemn x.
and i was far too weak, too weak to even dream.
you rose from the guillotine with such magnificent, radiating beauty.
something for all eyes to see.
i've given everything but am still left just as wise.
still taste the flesh of this stone.

death can't be measured or limited by the restraints of size;
avoiding and forever eluding our temptress, the grasp of the finite mind.
i've given everything but am still left empty.
what do you want from me?

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