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