The Room Pt. II: Red Threads

So as I walk to your room with your memories
I am consumed
By the spiders and cobwebs you grew
To wrap 'round your tomb as decoration
There lies your bed where you once laid your head
As I played just for you
My favorite selections from CD collections
I knew you'd sleep well to.

But as the sun rises there're no more surprises,
The blinds are pulled shut so no light can pour
Through the big Eastern windows and pool in your eyelids,
Warming the sleepy hands that are keeping
The blood in your veins, the red threads that bind us,
There to remind us that we can be whole again.

I came here a mourner, curled up in the corner
Beside the now empty birdcage
And tracing the elegant curves of the wire frame,
I wish I could recall the name
Of a creature with you for its keeper
And hold it to see if its lovesong's as wild as mine.

I think somewhere on these walls are inscribed the reasons why you're gone.

Now, back in the hallway I picture you softly
Closing the door behind me once more
You blink unexpected first and then second flashes of emerald eyes
Never mind that my heartstrings were pulled from your irises,
You're still gone.
So slowly I walk from your room with your memories
And I am consumed...

Winter Coat

the days are getting colder
and you've no winter clothes
you shake to hide your shivers
so nobody knows

(except for me
i always see
i could always see)

i asked you to give me a reason to stop
and you said "i've got a good one, a good one"
but it was uncalled for to say that i was not my father's son

now you're out in new york city
wearing the new guy's coat
and duck inside the cathedral
to escape the snow
and stare up at the ceiling wondering how high it goes

(if you were hollow
if you could float
feather-light bones
how high could you go?)

you asked me to give you a reason to talk
and i said "i've got a good one, a good one"
you interrupt though, pull a quick stop and i guess we'll never know

would you come home if i left you alone?
my apology won't get through by phone.

now faced with the question of "grace" vs. "slap-in-face"
oh man, that's a good one, a good one,
but i think in this case there might be no difference at all

Iron Stomach

do you recall the spring?
the birth, the evergreens,
when troubles kept beneath,
below our bare feet...

those days were pure and clean
my knees against your knees
but are they worth remembering
if i don't get you here with me today?

(you wake up to a morning of silence and makeup
dusting your eyelids, open wide your broken door for
bloodshot eyes to peek inside at lonely you)

these photos of broken trees and bitter poetry
have not much power to heal our quiet streets, our wordless car ride
would you call it irony if the God of you and the God of me
would rank one lover over the other?
sister speak to me please...

oh, our bent, bow-legged prideful strides to heaven...
on our bent, bow-legged prideful strides to heaven...

if our brokeness is keeping the both of us from sleeping
that just means it's working
that just means he's working
he's working

when you wake up to a morning of silence and make up
your reasons for violence
open wide your heart for more to pour inside
and you don't get to go, not this time
because we promised this one too
(didn't you?)

now the devil sleeps between the space between our feet
the devil sleeps between the space between you and me

The Watchtower

sadly i have come to find that everything good is dying
so carefully and dexterously my fingers work to hold together
this bramble of sticks and twigs that have been haphazardly stacked
in a little heart-shaped pile directly in front of me

and a little to the left! (2x)
this red-wine glow of mine and its audacity
pulsing just beneath...

where i should fear to tread, i have no fear, i have no fear
and where i should make myself scarce, i wait quietly,
i wait quietly

is there so little hope left?
is there so little hope left for you and i?
'cause this red wine glow of mine and its audacity
pulsing just beneath
won't let go of me

so like a lovesick poltergeist i'll wait for you
like a lovesick poltergiest i'll wait for you

and i wonder why i keep trying
when all the bonds keep untying
every day is death-defying
when everything good keeps dying,
i know, i know, i know...

Asleep in the Weeds

roll with me in the tangle's tangles
and the broken ankles of this place
until i see icy pucnture wounds
from frozen ivy needles in our veins

and we'll bleed all over
over the place
we'll bleed all over
each other in the end

laid across from me
in the thickest thicket
lost in the thick of it
blue and lucidly
i dream i hold her while growing colder
i dream i hold her while growing colder

having fallen asleep...

how can you tell the difference between
the wheat, the weeds and me
if you don't have eyes to see
because you fell asleep in the weeds?

The Room

up the stairs and through his door
empty bottles on the floor
dusty windows and picture frames
the room of the one she desires

sunset waits through empty hours
to pour through names we wish were ours
i play a cracked guitar with a broken string
near the room of the one she desires

we slowly drink from mason jars
beside the sound of passing cars
but the sun goes down without these sounds
in the room of the one she desires

three different bibles on his shelf
to add to life, love, faith and health
while picking locks and swinging keys
to the room of the one she desires

oh no... oh no...

i forget the ways you moved me
the sugary taste
the way you chased after him while clinging to me

the softing singing from her lips
and the brushing of her fingertips
on my back and through my hair
but i'm not the one she desires, oh no...
i'm not the one she desires