4.Suburban Asphalt
My bed hasn't seen me since the young summer sun
Watched our cruel blood drive ahead of us
With its hold on our wrists, cold steel and clenched
Two years of warm moons behind us
And I've made deep prints in the grey silt
Standing south of the cold stream, bleeding wild
Like the lonely weathered street that should have taken me
I won't believe I've slept
Because the bed I've kept is that driven pavement
Droning lullabies that can't bring me back
And each solstice's sun another red reminder
Of the youth we should have had
But gave away for the pain and the struggle of finding it on our
own
And maybe the streets aren't paved anymore
With the dying days of our childhood
I'll waste the sunlight tracing this pavement
For an answer, for some feeling I almost knew
But there's no answer from the braille of worn asphalt
There's no response from the lines where our bones broke
With my ear to the floor, I'll listen for a heartbeat
But the only sound is wheels spinning free
Overturned, eyes closed, stained red
Our home is dead
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