Untitled 04
I,
I am feeling like a veteran,
uncompensated for the blood i've left to pool on foreign grounds,
and I,
sometimes reach to rub at aching legs,
but they've been dust for over a decade,
and you're the limb i've lost but somehow I still feel it...
Until I awake,
we just hope that you made it,
we hope that you're celebrating,
with people you miss,
and burning like a beacon,
guiding our ship around this hellish shoal,
i'm happy to admit that maybe I am a little depressed,
cause i'm missing you to death.
And now,
it's only records of my memory,
some little thing you gave posthumously,
the details all dragged out,
to think,
of all the paitings we would be without,
if Van Gogh had gone and died face down from loss of blood the night he went and hacked his ear off...
Until I awake,
we just hope that you made it,
we hope that you're celebrating,
with people you miss,
and burning like a beacon,
guiding our ship around this hellish shoal,
i'm happy to admit that maybe I am a little depressed,
cause i'm missing you to death.
Until I awake,
we just hope that you made it,
we hope you're as decorated,
as the day that you left,
and burning like a beacon,
guiding our ship around this hellish shoal,
i'm happy to admit that maybe I am a little depressed,
cause i'm missing you to death.