perpetual snowstorms have caused my bones to atrophy and age
so the slightest fray will more than likely shatter my whole ribcage
though still plotting the shortest route from where i am to where i wanna be
cutting my wrists so i can see where i have previously tried to flee
laying distinctive pathways through all the places passed travelling
resew the neurological tapestry before it's done slowly unravelling
claude monet created artworks considered ten times more composed
you can't reopen old wounds that never properly closed
so you should be able to see into the dead centre of my soul
and witness that i'm made up of nine layers of ashes and coal
slightly off to the left, i can feel jedecca breaking in two
and there's more than enough lesions for him to seep out though
so before i trip over several lies that took years to be strung
i'll do my best to stitch back together skin that flaked beneath the sun
i'm reaching out for guidance only to clutch broken hands
and i can't question direction past each of my swallow glands
what i thought was a seraph was a vulture with white wings
i clipped them in the autumn and kept you warm until the spring
tried to splint your broken wing and repair your damaged beak
but infection defeated healing and your injuries stayed weak
we tried to harmonize but every note we sang was wrong
retrograde amnesia for the melody you were singing all along
then you scratched up my body, took your leave and once again
moved onto another nest with an apparent inability to maintain
so now i'm building stories with the heaviest words ever sung
to add it to my repertoire of songs to scream at the sun
while marching in rhythm to the beat of a slowly fleeting pulse
pushing against the winds until the body starts to convulse
i swear you must have knicked one of my pulmonary veins
cause i can bloodflow redirecting to the frontal lobe of my brain
huge pressure is building and my left arm has gone numb
i feel it behind my eyes, i bet i can get it with my thumbs
not brave enough for blindness so this pain will never dull
i swear i'd be able to grasp it if i could get inside my skull
does the brain lead the parasite or is it the mind that solely guides?
can i reach into each my ears and rip out all the insides?
will i eventually think more clearly once this is all said and done
or will i be forced to replace my broken mind for a newer, better one?
i swear my mind can be rebuilt using the proper mixture of chemicals
flood the pharmaceuticals into the fourth and third ventricles
and hopefully while they're at it, they'll repair my rotted lungs
but disregard my dying heart, as we each speak in different tongues
can't afford crack under the pressure, by my own intent or error
need to create a distinction between what's fleeting and what's forever
discover the parallels between what helps and what weakens
while i'm stuck south of sodom, slightly north-east of eden
i'll neither trip nor faulter fowards, towards an uncertain, tragic end
but i suspect this all depends on how well my broken legs will mend
if the bone will snap under the load or allow me to walk straight
cause all this pressure on my shoulders is becoming baring weight
my eyes aren't commited enough to communicate all the oncoming ditches
that i never hestitate to find, i can be sew back together with stitches
i swear my mind can be rebuilt using the proper mixture of pharmaceuticals
though i'll probably fall apart again, as it's been proven to be the usual
and deep in a shallow graves lie the best laid schemes of mice and men
that have proven only to fail time, and time again
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