Tuesday, December 06, 2005
2 weeks. 

Hands in line
Arms close to my side
I'm fighting tides of an ocean's undertow
And I figure that I might not make it
And I'm taking empty
But seldom speaking
And the words retreat yeah they're breathing histories into stories untold
And my arms unfold.

My hands are high
And I'm holding out, holding up
Because I figure that I just might make it
And I'm waking empty but seldom sleeping
And the words repeat breathing histories into stories untold
And I unfold.
--posted by M @ 4:04 AM | 0 comments

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