Lyric Requiescat

A blessed hand to cover the cursed mouth born of faith

when tiptoeing around flights of fancy informs sonic acrobatics.

An esoteric words for what never held true;

a complicated rite forcing an answer through.

These are prayers for a sense left for dead or an elegy on the end of a life I once led.

Learning that we inhabit a bedtime story,

prophets whisper to fools.

Footbound and adrift and losing a game for which we ve written the rules.

Rip my heart to pieces.

Scatter them all to the wind.

And it s an ironic twist of fate,

this bit of hypocritical fare,

when we re taught to look passed the suitable answers,

watch them dissolve and not even care...