Noun and Verb

Some things keep on living,
most things are not as invincible as we thought.
Sleeping in a bed made far beneath the ground,
so that under my covers I could just never be found.

See, I been wrapped up in artificial light, lies,
where nobody can reach me.
And in my own defense, I weigh my words down in eloquence,
growing so obese they can't pass through the threshold of my mind,

not in time.

I recall a red shirt and a red face, and red eyes,
screaming at me as I press the drive
out of this place, out of your life for now.

So you tell your distortions of your memories,
I'll tell my accounts of battles real.
You were stitched together with strings of my ideal forever,
but you are what I should not,
you are what I should not wear.

I recall writing up a floorplan to a lonely house,
with just one light on.
Where a crack in the foundation divided our seperate nations
into what was yours and what was mine.
And by God, I was so proud.
Look what my hands built, look how it shimmers, look how it consumes me.

Why can't fewer things hold true
in the rise and fall?
Where poison in the blood, in the water,
gathers in the ink of the author.
In the rise and fall, we feel the slice and sting of this most pretentious thing
called love. Love, that either makes forever or makes an enemy.
In the rise and fall. I'm in the rise and fall low, love.



...and maybe these things turn out to be invincible after all.