homecoming.
2006-03-22 11:45 a.m.
claims laid, the tracks that run our house down to the city, rebuilt earlier this year, and we are leaving, our hands with paper bags gripped tight and looking dirty, hugging the rails because we've planned our own homecomingyou don't need to make them prove that they love you. you don't need to be so difficult to love. your loyalty precedes you to the grave.
you can be so
quiet
with all the lights off and only breathing to sustain you, to push the life back in and out
how many nights have you done the same for me, have you cuddled closer just to have the air that's passed through my body, and there's red and white and hope at the end of the tunnel
if you'll only stay close.
i have so little to give, and i am such a poor man, i give, you know, i'm still giving what i can
before the breakdown, before the end comes into view, and i am holding tight, i have pushed my back to you just asking turn me, just asking take me as your own, you know
i've never had a home like this
where we are constants, and we are constantly aligned, we are easy, and we are doing just fine, so come and find me, i've curled in the bathroom, choking myself out on sounds
foreign to me, asking heaven for a sign, if tongues can take us, then i will take you to be mine, will take you bearing out your years, a savior looking for some comfort
in the heat of battle, and the fire's hit the top of the trees, rural oklahoma, where i've put my hands and youth and photographs of all the things wasted made for wasting.
We were children, knowing everything there was to know about how life was supposed to be, so we were happy, thinking that we'd figured this one out, thinking that we'd finally seen
the great truth that haunted the dreams of our mothers and fathers, that sent telephones ringing in apologetic letters, stone cold and boring, we made our upset
and took the streets again for the summer, calculating our release, stolen credit cards - the stories of yours that i've taken for myself, you can have me, i have little use left for these things, my motivation disguises itself in your hands, pressing
the sheets into midnight shapshifters, towers of babel-
our language is forever.