Connect Fore

I have become numb to the idea of praise Praying that the preys won't catch themselves in the aisles of pews handled by the strength of clout Smuggled out by strange men I've become jaded by the blues Fade to purple so I can paint kitchens and cook surrounded by new hues I have become scarred by our experience There is no healing for the bruise but I often think we can grow new limbs and the broken will be of no use I have become hopeful every now and then so I pull ink out of pen to write like Habakkuk the vision plain upon tables so they can run and ring wedding bells for the two I have become suspicious of the suspended suspense of new days Always dreaming of bumping into the new side of you Becoming feeble for the opening of hearts You stay in far away parts and have nothing to do with today I've become a pleading thing Covered in blankets, prostrate on cold tiles A petrified wood waiting to be drenched by something different Something like you watching me in pews dressed in blue Covering scars with outstretched open palms Marked by ink I've used in daydreaming of new days So they covered me in blankets The petrified good