Little Frames

Hung up on what I’ve done
And so I’ve erased me from all history
Consigned to this space
From which I can’t escape
I’ve made this bed where I wait
Hunted for bloodlust
Towards a world turned to dust
For which I am accused, a fucking recluse

All I have are unseeing eyes
Faces face each other inside this rusted locket

Desperate to feel it again
(She’s out there, she’s out there)
With each memory I invent
(Replay it, replay it)

I’ve been bound by each little frame
Every death condemned to the same
Expiration date

Iridescent glow, faint candlelight
Through the curtain, thin and worn
Keeps me awake at night

Iridescent glow, faint candlelight
Through the curtain, thin and worn
Keeps me awake at night
Pull the blanket over my eyes

Tightly spun, woven through
The fragile memories
Of leaving the world behind
We’ve become the severed threads
Of a world at bay, a tapestry waiting to fray

Lock the doors; I’ve swallowed the key
They are not men, but wolves who burn
On less sacred cleansing ground, like dust
The midnight sun shines through the drapery
Tightly drawn, I’m drawn to it
A burning vagrant in the desert haze
Who wanders in the sun, lost

Measure me, I am not the answer to
Your dreams, measure me
Imperfect soul, imperfect body
A perfect sacrifice for a fool
Lost with no way out, replace this apathy

With the stoic sorrow of an acquiescent heart
I wait, as a moth, drawn to the flame
A soul, bound to the grave
This bed that I have made is a coffin

You cannot mend a heart
If it hasn’t been broken, if it hasn’t been broken
Countless tales interred below the sand
Persist as solemn souvenirs
Of every frame you’ve tried to mend
With faulty tools in hand

I’ve been bound by each little frame
Every death condemned to the same
Expiration date

Tightly spun, woven through
The fragile memories
Of leaving the world behind
We’ve become the severed threads
Of a world at bay, a tapestry waiting to fray