t's a fact that the facts have all fallen out
|
so call it on over to purge the doubt
|
but you can't open your mind
|
because you can't close your mouth
|
|
so move it on forward without a parchment thought
|
with a heart beat unsteady your own broken clock
|
|
but you don't know where to move to cause
|
you don't know where to stop
|
and you don't know what to hold
|
cause you don't know what to drop
|
so you shuffle your feet through an empty parking lot
|
with all the angsty angst that soon won't be forgot
|
|
It's alright Give it Time
|
The feelings will fade
|
You'll feel warm inside
|
You'll feel warm inside
|
|
The point of nostalgia will bring back the youth
|
but the taste is unsteady a dry vermouth
|
and you can't get the thought stuck inside of you
|
so find another window maybe one without a glare
|
|
but the one to consider might have rotten hair
|
or a body soaked in ink
|
or an artistic flare
|
a body that wanders
|
but a mind that isn't there
|
a book of poems filled with cynical fear
|
loyalty to another, man who would dare
|
|
-----------------
|
Broken Window Fallacy
|
| Dreams From Gin |
