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The New Incisions
While she's building her monuments to stability,
I'm climbing over the great big walls to escape.
Ears up for the sound of love, my arms outstretched for what
I need.
Not logic or precision, I need new incisions.
Getting older, ceasing to be slowly.
Where did all the roses go?
Now I'm always lonely.
And before there was time for even worse decisions we were
already working on our new incisions.
They could bleed out with all our doubts, our fears and malice.
They could surround the work we've done,
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To keep warm and balanced.
They could be a mistake.
They could say they all knew.
Ears up for the sound of love, hope for what it discloses,
At semblance of pity for the loss of roses.
One day excuse the years I spent selfish and angry.
What, with eating and drinking and fucking and thinking,
They're all hollow and hazy.
And before there was time for even worse decisions we were
already working on our new incisions.
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