When the sun rose again, to find us alone.
In the chill of the morning, in the chill of your home.
I was cursing to myself that I'd never come again.
In the sick of my stomach there were butterflies again.
There were giant frozen potholes, and guilty nervous grins.
Yes those days were good days as days some times are,
but this day I'm bleeding with all these new scars.
With open ended invitations, you'd supplement.
With the sting of goodbye,
oh, but I knew what you meant.
For the night is a shadow from the earth on itself,
and all my friends are just animals floating on a shelf.
That would one day be frozen
or melted inslightly
or a thousand other things
that will someday bring catastrophe.
In the dark of our lives
with syntheticating machines
to pretend it's today
not to fall asleep and dream.
So the porch-light I saw on my way down a walk
Which it's silhouette like a halo and a cross on your neck.
And I’d drink myself to sleep if only it could be dark
somewhere out in heaven without the glimmer of stars.
Without the promise of something,
without the terror of nothing.
Without the promise of something,
without the terror of nothing.
Without the promise of something,
without the terror of nothing.