Song of the Dying

You don’t feel upon lying So you sing the song of the dying Sunday afternoons Pastors choose reign in a spiritual doom The sun plasters we coons Stand out and fade faster with the moon I bid you the same old static and blues The one always in favor of tempered news The trail of adventures and rules We don’t heal upon crying So we sing the song of the dying The highways haunts you Night sky’s taunt the blue All life wants from you Is the truth The secrets they’re telling you One just knows not what to do Feel like you want to cry Coincidentally you realize It would be better to die We don’t feel upon lying So we sing the song of the dying I’ve given away myself in every song Driven the bars last liquor home No sympathy for an aging man For I cannot feel your tears Upon my rough hands My scared palms My irrelevance bared in chapters of Psalms Until my ending is calmed