I won't accept it. I do my best to reject patterns til it hurts,
every second making bad turns for the worse.
She's getting further away I can feel it in the way my bones ache.
The ocean sealed it's lips, now the waves won't break.

The secrets it won't say has got us trying to break codes in churches
and lately I've been hating its soul purpose.
When a boy writes off the world it's done with sloppy misspelled words if
a girl writes off the world it's done in cursive.

I'm searching for the cure
this is a sickness.
can you hear me, love?


Now I look for air pockets to pick, walk with a stick, start picking locks with it.
Opening up heart-shaped lockets with little arguments.
The tawdry trinkets start to split and contradict
those who say one thing but think the opposite.

I bit the dust tongue kissing documents in a smoke stack.
Faith is harder to swallow than pride it, turns our throats black.
I want my home back. I know that's not an available option.
It's the way that I'm walking in between a cradle and coffin.

That makes me pace myself. if half the battle is done right,
the other half won't take my health while jacking my shadow's sunlight
to crack it open and find the space between my breaths are desolate
life is just a lie with an "f" in it and death is definite.


Sage Francis, The Cure