The Foolish Motives of Lost Debates
Gregory McIntosh
Take the splinter from the tambourine and split the skin
To feel something. I'm not alone in drowning out
The things I hate to talk about
Well, oh no: it’s too late to let the feelings truly show
Come, walk with me, come talk with me
How can I realign the avenues of better times?
When will I cease fucking up endlessly?
The sharpened teeth and roots of memories
Came too late for me to see the cast is blind
And searching for a light switch in the dark
Then got tangled in the strings of the heart
Come walk with me, come talk with me
How can I renovate the foolish motives of lost debates?
When will I cease fucking up endlessly?