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Muttering Retreats are Sliced to Prevent a Bitter End.

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Dec. 9th, 2008 | 04:01 pm


I stood on the pier with no hope in my hand
pocket twos in a world where a flush is in demand
And up in the sky where seem to focus our longings
I no longer see a benevolent man.

I stand in the alley, three walls blocking my path
And the way back is guarded by a regretted past
There's no ladder to climb, no way to get back
And the voices I hear have no body.

And nobody cares is all I can think
Shrugged profit and pride for a present wrapped in pink
bows paper and hope, but I can't seem to get it open.
There is no logical way.

The blade that I've used to cover my hopes
And discard my possibilities now slices loops
And shards from the walls at my face
There is no disgrace.

I forget all I've heard in the anguished cries
Which echoed from my lips after stifled goodbyes
When greetings must suffice, I think it now wise
To let go of all that's followed me.

Given life in the last throes of June's sullen breeze
She's a pill that I'll glady swallow with ease
One who also denies the forest through the trees.

While wandering easily through life's guilty course
We discovered an old man dismounting his horse
Whose eyes only twinkled with ambivalent remorse
When we asked his circumstances.

"When life's got you troubled," he quietly spoke
His words subdued and labored, enveloped in smoke,
"give up, get down, let go, and retreat."
We let him go with ease.

While carrying our hopes through a forgotten wood
Where we both had been stuck before, we solemnly stood
And confessed our atrocious pasts and deeds
Into a hollow tree.

And life had been born from unending doubt
The infinite summed up in a handful of water
From a fountain that exists, so far as we know
Only in dreams and legend.

But if we were to stand at the top of all land
And look down upon the flowing seas
We would then see all that we can
What wasn't true then would be.

And lifted on high by wings of delight
We would stand on a cloud so far from that fright
Which left us paralyzed every day until night
We would then be free.

But what stops us from this most noble of goals?
I couldn't tell you and I don't think you know,
But of all that remains from what we've been taught,
At least one path must be true.
So follow me, I'll follow you.

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