September 14, 2013
You might feel the painful hours
As silence sings a lullaby
Oh lie inside a cell of flowers
Azure reminders of the sky

Go linger in the walkway
Living in the past like it's reality
There are phantoms screaming
Seeking out your refuge
On the benches painted green
Under the small tree

Burn this field, oh greater powers
It shall be my sweet funeral pyre
You tie my hands inside this tower
Of silence, where death will consume me

Returning to that office
Of old rifles, broken swords, and accusations
A dead rose lies in the center of attention
All its petals brown from bleeding out its story 
You scream out tears to say you're sorry