This, That or the Other

tree-and-sunWhat hurts more…then the times I made you hate you hate me, are the times I really made you care.

What burns out, in the twilight…are not the moments of rejection but the times you wanted me there.

Anyway, who can say? It’s all just a play, and one day we will all sell out.

 

So when I go…into new days, it’s not the fear of getting back, it’s the fear of another fall.

And so you know…as I find ways, it’s never the road behind I fear but rather the cracks ahead that make me stall.

Whatever now, who can ask? Don’t like the task of the push but I shoved first.

 

So to all when you take the time to ponder on me, whether it is of things lost and things you could see, is he a man or a mouse, I know you have your doubts.

Oh, how it all kills me to recall when I saw kindness at all, instead of the ticking clock to count down premature end…

So, when I get back on the horse, after the course and friendship divorce, I see how things they bend…

As a wish and a gift I wish I could, turn off the guilt and the hilt of the sword that I think cuts me out…

Complications, aggravations from what’s at hand, lines pushed back every time you make a stand and all the doubt…and just hear the beats you all tried to send.

So for the nights…as the mistakes are made in simple lines of healing I run a lot of shitty cover.

So for the days…I chose long ago to say the truth from my mind or be like him. The other.

So who sees these? I don’t want to pack them away, they have sharp edges.

Out of thoughts…what wounds me most in the soft center is the times I could feel your faith.

Right on time…fueled crimes from the false eyes and right before you I turn into the wraith.

Where is the priestess of healing? I don’t want the curse I have bared it long.

(Circle round…)

So to all when you take the time to ponder on me, whether it is of things lost and things you could see, is he a man or a mouse, I know you have your doubts.

Oh, how it all kills me to recall when I saw kindness at all, instead of the ticking clock to count down premature end…

So, when I get back on the horse, after the course and friendship divorce, I see how things they bend…

As a wish and a gift I wish I could, turn off the guilt and the hilt of the sword that I think cuts me out…

Complications, aggravations from what’s at hand, lines pushed back every time you make a stand and all the doubt…and just hear the beats you all tried to send.

Thomas Spychalski

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