Thursday, May 8, 2014

Behind The Counter

Scratching at guard gates
building shelves the ones we been placed on
Theirs a  look your soul gives when it's been condemned

And you staring  at the world with a glare
taking mis- steps to find your way home

Small town forgives empty glasses
but how do we find the glory
I predict your fate

I'm telling you to stand in the window
of the cold cell you sit in
As you watch the world pass you by

Your left with a drink and your sitting on the bench
A slave to regret

A hollow grave,

Stuck upon the shelf.

I sit in front of an audience
I am screaming
The world has begun and ended a hundred times over again

Take your lovers hand
I will show you

How deleted lines carry over
like over due library books
I will file them away.

Scratching at the guard gates
Bleeding to the core

There is a glory
Arms open wide

Stuck upon the shelf
Waiting to be saved.