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Cowboys Became Folk Heroes
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The Birth of a Broken Language
The glass has shattered,
We watch as the shards hit the floor.
Ignoring open slices in our hands,
We sweep the crimson stained shards under the rug,
Filling the wounds with splinters in the process.
Blood poured forth that proves a pulse,
But that too we will sweep under the rug.
Tongues are bleeding through our silence and we all bite harder.
Do you care to cut a rug with me, before the rug cuts us all?
Let's talk this out; you are not alone.
These arms are extended where arms should have been,
And there we lay,
Broken, bruised, and bleeding,
Ripped across the floor,
Silence slicing through,
As teeth cut through tongues of stone...
And these nights,
I watched as you lay dying
With these hands they tied so tight,
These scars they carved inside of you,
As columns crumbled and hearts collapsed.
(This house is haunted,
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This roof is caving in.)
...And when I closed my eyes,
I still see it all.
(That house is still haunting me.)
Every second, every word,
Screaming, crying, pleading,
But always said I'm silent,
Always said I'm secret.
(That house is still tearing me in two...)
I would have given you my life,
But I couldn't give you words.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
These tongues bled where words should have been.
Hearts stood still where beats should have been.
Emptiness ached where arms should have been.
Hearts are failing where life and love should be at their strongest...
Within the arms of one another.
by.: Carlos | Ride The Wings of...
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