stretched my skin and dried
sewed myself up and filled to the neck with wine
still we lie. back’s to h*ll facing the moonlight.
has the well run dry?
no, the well’s half empty with a boy trapped inside
alive, scr*ping the surface trying to see the light
but when the hammer comes down
will it bend the nail at the neck?
or scar the hand
of your maker, this dream’s architect
when death is infinite
will your god ask, “what did you expect?”
and when the hammer comes down
will it only leave a dent?
heard the truth once and like a lucid dream
awoke one more and smelled each brittle matchbook bridge burning.
we got our hands dirty
scarred the face of god’s country
so much to say, so much to sing
so what’s to think? n*body’s listening.