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
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