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Them Thieves
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Vacant Tide
Every breath I inhaled was only an attempt at finding air. I am still breathing for no one. Every word I uttered was merely a lesser form of fiction. This is my truest confession. The road has ripped through these feet that I have worn. I was chasing all those hidden years (those hidden years). But my dreams fluttered, like faded last wishes. I was trying to grip the ocean (i was trying). I was trying to grab the vacant tide (the vacant tide). That I hoped would wash away what I had become. But the pacific never pushed the water in. The sun stays so low in the breath of morning. Nights stay too dark for me to make it. Up past the point of where I need to be. I have less than a spark to warm me. I looked into the mirror to steady the lines. But no wake and no wonder came. And my sight grew short as my pen fell back onto. On all the pages I keep writing. On all the letters I keep sending to myself. I'd sign them sincerely but that would be a lie. I am not myself, I don't know where I've been. I'm not coming back, I don't know where I am. I screamed it more than a thousand times before. When the weight of the world came I was all but alive. And the blue prints meant for all the other men. Were scribed in ink that I could never read. I signed them one thousand times before. And I am not myself,
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