Cabin Fever

I Am The Club

9-9-04

Don't waste your sound.
The air is neither clean nor kind
in this habitat of inhumanity we call home.
Your heart us scattershot
through loose wires and broken chords
that tie up and strangle the best intentions,
and finish off the worst
with nothing but a trail of smoke in the end.
It's broken dreams and times like these
that closure doesn't feel like justice
and revenge is only a wasted hope
when the absolution of everything around us
just keeps going on
and on
and on.
My silence is the damage.
I want to take nothing from this.
No memory, no hope, no change.
All I can offer is unnecessary infliction.
The retribution began
before the pain was first felt,
and we're guilty as one.
The music is drowning everything out now.
I can't hear you
but there wasn't anything left to say.
Dulled by all that's been,
I sink further into your forgotten.