What began as a poem is now just a burden, 

a vicious song that's mine to keep. 

What began as forgetting is now just a prototype of ways to fight off sleep

Arm the thieves with the wings and weights of soldiers to deepen the pockets of the meek

Make mixtapes of other peoples problems 

and burn everyone CD's. 

Cause they've built themselves some charade 

where a saving grace is hard to find. 

What began as a song ended up as a death threat 

addressed to everyone's house but mine. 

So far confined into dead ends 

with greater love of consequence 

and a quiver filled with bad intentions 

to let them fall where they may. 

So tell them for their own sake

Do your best to stay awake 

The burden's are mine, 

contently confined to carve the lines in acetate. 

Get the syringe. 

Let's see if ink to page brings the same fear as life, love and medicine. 

It can break skin

Let's see who feels it. 

Things have changed so little from the way I planned it

a ventricle scarred, lined with mathematics. 

And an escape to my old best advantage

a savagely serrated pen. 


Get the syringe

Let's see if ink to page brings the same fear as life, love and medicine

It can break skin

it can't break me. 

Here's your advantage

Things have changed so little from the way I planned it

a scab to heal hopeless semantics

It's all romantics

We're all romantics. 

The math is coincidence.