Untitled - November 16, 2006

As we sing
The truth comes through the melodies
Raining down the mysteries
Like pools of old trash on the floor
We say it cant be trusted
We say it cant be

Believe me when I say I have nothing to say,
My mind rolls into the back of my head
With a slipping sensation of dread.

Touch my fingers and make them pulse
Against the keys that keep the doors
Locked so life seems like a chore.