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Bury Your Dead

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Bury Your Dead

Twelfth Stroke of Midnight

I can't read between the lines
Of a letter
That you've never written
I can't begin to compromise
On a problem
That you have invented

Dead stares cut a paper heart
And beats ink in these pages
Letters written in regret
To many lifeless faces
This is the end of me
I am running on empty

Hours spent pouring over these words
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With nothing gained
All that was lost with nothing learned
I'm just feeling drained

This is taking so much out of me
I am doubting my place as of late

I wish I could make this
Paper heart come alive
All my time spent on
Writing this living lie
All my time spent on this lie