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What Houses We Will Build
Who will I be when the lights grow dim?
In slumbering calloused palaces
We wander through hardened skin
We blunder in christened shape,
Bright shining and golden days
May lay ahead if not too late
To make the wait grow colder,
Will fast hands palm me from this place?
I pray for a delivery until hands
Those stubborn hands
Bleeding from a rosary
Bleeding from the sharp thorn
Of a rose sobering
Cooled molten tempers
Finally rejecting the distaste
Of my present inconveniences,
Teeming conscience
With ugly faces
Roll me into a spot of sorts,
Give me a moment
To pull myself from sludge
When the sun I see is also
Just waking up,
Preach the layer
And the mortar we will reclaim
In the house of cards
Balancing keeps the madmen sane
