At the Moment All of Our Spots Are Filled
Have you ever wondered, after broken dreams and bitter clouds
all the jesters in their corner waiting patiently around.
so alone but not forgotten, words are scribed on fickle stone
when your dead and all is gotten, all forgotten left alone
used to be a pretty portrait now the paint dripped down the wall
halls of black and rooms of blue
the debtors noose around you soon
yet he seeks no compensation only one for there is room
where you entered you will exit, where you walked the sand will fill
yet this soothes me for the moment, yellow omens on the hill
disappearance desperation inclination for the last
these tears of empty sadness with them all I fill my glass.
some things left best forgotten, not all lives are ment to live
but yet the ending never changes like a clock with broken hands
I have contemplated both but for one I am inclined
I was born not of my choosing but my death shall be of mine.
so where is this all going, rowing sleepily along
bring your oars up out the water for the waves are much too strong
and the wind is blowing harshly while the water sings a song
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