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Goodtime Boys
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Sleep
A complex product of the age,
eyes loses focus with bowels weak.
I cannot stomach all of these lies,
each and every cliche i speak
I am left weightless, lacking a mooring.
No anchor forged to condemn, me to the ground.
I am left weightless, lacking a mooring.
Nothing can hold me down, into the ground.
Swollen.
I'm swollen.
Swollen with ego,
Swollen with time,
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with mother's blurry words
and the slogans that litter my mind.
And as I stare, through painted faces into your bleached out cheeks.
Forget your name, forget a face.
Boundaries pale to memory as we embrace.
Try to remember nothing has changed,
Here in these arms, this is my home.
Here in these arms, all that I have.
Here in these arms, I sleep.
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