Trees fall like iron on their way down. We bury our hands in
their hearts and waste away again. Because I have tried to turn
words to stone. Tried to fight the day with my eyes closed. Cut
away at questions until my tounge bled. Held in answers until I
lost my breath. Sink in, shallow like sand. I will not wear this
blood on my hands, so shake that halo from your head. We have
been down this road before, grasped at all the same straws. Eyes
that catch the light, and burn up our insides. These butterflies
with wings of glass that shatter mid air. I'm afraid that this
fever has gotten yo us again. Your splintered words have gauged
my soul.