The sun makes the leaves golden when it's cold,
it's a silly trick of the eyes.
There's a briskness in life that's somehow not real,
somehow a fanciful disguise.
Right now in this dry and hollow linen shell,
this prison that I've made.
I'm Wrapped up in safety ignoring what I feel
and my sanity slips and fades.
I keep meaning to move and wiggle my fingers,
do something, just try and feel.
Stretch my hard arms and feel my frozen feet,
nothing is anymore real.
To move and start breathing and thinking,
to face it.
Stir and get out of here, close to the street,
to embrace it.
Something happened in the changing and moving, I slipped.
It's black and I'm terribly lost.
I fell down that dark hole, forgot all my sight,
and I'm damned to the rising cost.
There's this tape on my eyes and my throat and I know
I can't breath. I can't breath!
What's up and down and left and what's right
somehow just can't be seen.
I breath on the window and write damned in the fog,
my finger trails so slowly.
Fighting to turn the locks, crack the hinges, break free,
the creaking so ghostly.