Aching Souls
A constant ache
A raging churn
Within my heart
The pulse of it
Throws me under
One… Two… Three… Four
One… Two… Three… Four
One… Two… Three… Four
Then the silence
It boils inside
Pointing fingers
Not good manners
The aching stops
Silence is dread
Seconds, minutes
Hours, days, weeks... soon
The day will come
My soul will ache
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