Seems hardly fair to pick apart your argument,
Your heart’s scared and I couldn’t bear to harden it.
Your laugh’s paired with asymptomatic parliament
To pass laws that will govern how you garden it.
There’s a closed-off tunnel to the sweet spot,
There’s an anchor that plummets from the tree top,
There’s a failure to protect your neck from sea knots and
What’s left when you’re wilting with a weak flock?
I’m subordinate, shorn but now I’m bored of it,
Borderline whored but no one bought or even thought of it.
Of course I was coarse and I distorted it,
But life’s a pretty picture when the price is less exorbitant.
I wept, we ineptly seek the heart of it.
And I kept a bitter promise just to pardon it.
We crept around the problem til the hardened tip
Burst through the gut of the deception that we started with.
I fell, if this is hell I’m not apart of it,
And I slept with the cold corpse of argument,
This smell left to dwell right where we started it,
Opened eyes to the light, watch me darken it.
I fell, if this is hell I’m not apart of it,
And I wept against the cold corpse of argument,
This smell left to dwell right where we started it,
Opened eyes to the light, watch me darken it.
I fell, if this is hell I’m not apart of it,
And I pressed against the cold corpse of argument,
This smell left to dwell right where we started it,
So what's left but to finish what we started with?

One by one’s and two by two’s,
Insist I break or insist I bruise.
And since I wake and this sickness looms,
The sickness shakes all the symptoms loose.
The fists I make don’t persist with grace,
I’m black and blue but I’m fixed in place.
The fists I make don’t resist with grace.
No.

The dark disappeared one morning when I woke up,
Flames in my breakfast, deluge in my tea cup.
It took time still to paste on the make-up,
The beasts and the burdens are bustled in a B-cup.
There’s a vacant vessel I’ve been poured in,
There’s an ache in a muscle that’s been worn thin,
There’s a taste and a texture to the poison and
a hatred for the faceless and the maker that I’ve sworn in.
I divorced from it, forced to fuck and force the vomit,
Paused to press the promise on us pressured by the press and commerce.
One comment, once common, one woman,
One wasted on the waivered conversations, incongruent.
I’m ruined, and I know I’m not apart of it,
So I slept against the cold corpse of argument,
This chest heaved the message then discarded it, so
What’s left but to finish what we started,
Shit.

One by one’s and two by two’s,
Insist I break or insist I bruise.
And since I wake and this sickness looms,
The sickness shakes all the symptoms loose.
The fists I make don’t persist with grace,
I’m black and blue but I’m fixed in place.
The fists I make don’t resist with grace.
No.