I Am Not Expressive
True colors are revealed
of what is real and what is pain.
Thoughts of courage shown
and promises broken
all mean absolutely nothing
in the pale outline and yellow tape.
Did no one stand in my defense?
How did we get here, in this
Trial without Judge or Jury?
Nothing is learned in a Self-Inflicted Gunshot wound
What will they say
when they hear the news that day?
Courage or cowardice?
As you turn you back
and walk away,
and walk away.
5 dark days spent
in this land of decision.
5 dark nights I've held you,
cold steel in colder hands.
5 times the air is cracked
then silent tears fall,
little drops of courage
that I float heavy in.
One of us is satisfied, one of us is empty.
Only lies are told in a Self-Inflicted Gunshot wound.
A Picasso reflection
staring back tauntingly,
disjointed feelings and reasons.
Selling my soul piece by piece
at yard sale prices.
Soon there will be nothing left
but to turn out the lights
and scrawl meaningless words
about another shot at a Self-Inflicted Gunshot wound.
What will they say
when they hear the news that day?
Courage or cowardice?
As you turn you back
and walk away,
and walk away.
I know what floods back
In that singular moment in time.
Picture book movies played slow,
searching them for reasons
to turn and walk away.
Hoping for that visitor you thought you left behind
But yet still remains hand outstretched.
So we lace fingers in fingers,
see the picture, know the truth.
That nothing ends in a Self-Inflicted Gunshot wound.
What will they say
when they hear the news that day?
Courage or cowardice?
As you turn your back
and walk away,
and walk away.
of what is real and what is pain.
Thoughts of courage shown
and promises broken
all mean absolutely nothing
in the pale outline and yellow tape.
Did no one stand in my defense?
How did we get here, in this
Trial without Judge or Jury?
Nothing is learned in a Self-Inflicted Gunshot wound
What will they say
when they hear the news that day?
Courage or cowardice?
As you turn you back
and walk away,
and walk away.
5 dark days spent
in this land of decision.
5 dark nights I've held you,
cold steel in colder hands.
5 times the air is cracked
then silent tears fall,
little drops of courage
that I float heavy in.
One of us is satisfied, one of us is empty.
Only lies are told in a Self-Inflicted Gunshot wound.
A Picasso reflection
staring back tauntingly,
disjointed feelings and reasons.
Selling my soul piece by piece
at yard sale prices.
Soon there will be nothing left
but to turn out the lights
and scrawl meaningless words
about another shot at a Self-Inflicted Gunshot wound.
What will they say
when they hear the news that day?
Courage or cowardice?
As you turn you back
and walk away,
and walk away.
I know what floods back
In that singular moment in time.
Picture book movies played slow,
searching them for reasons
to turn and walk away.
Hoping for that visitor you thought you left behind
But yet still remains hand outstretched.
So we lace fingers in fingers,
see the picture, know the truth.
That nothing ends in a Self-Inflicted Gunshot wound.
What will they say
when they hear the news that day?
Courage or cowardice?
As you turn your back
and walk away,
and walk away.
