I carry my tenderness with me, but I've no idea what to do with it. To soothe my pride - my soul would stop hurting. Next to me there's envy and right by it my malice. A desire to be the first, and of a highest order.
The book has lost it's colors - without even being opened. Hey, I used to have wings! Now they're fractured. A razor blade in one hand, my courage in the other; the fight that will happen around the evening, and the same grayness of the morning.
Below the heavenly roof everything has it's own time. You've got your businesses and my faith in you. What I've got is the cold of the night, the wish to get wasted, the voice of a stranger over again, the tired faces.