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"SLOW FIRE VOLUME 1"

A Million Breaths

Heart and soul adapt to the hands of your fallen and useless friends. You belong here. Color black and I request they shed of its mouth and broken eyes to a piece of God. Filter in the isolated lone last friend who found me in the piece of you. The terminus confusion lies in wait with its slow fire. A child dressed in winter clothes, a resemblance that rattles around my mind. Less than one million breaths away from the end and oblivion so total, so complete. 

And a hundred years from now, with a voice like silent song, I am and so are you you there. And the echo is long dead, and the trees my ashes fed will burn or uproot themselves in the wind, and no one is the wiser. 

And the markers we engrave in the lion's den of trade, they last, what, a hundred years or maybe two? In a brilliant flash of time, no one who knows the rhyme will stand on this side of ground to be tested or to be mistrusted. 

The roots of young grass will reach me. They will tickle the earth that was my toes. Calm will be brown leaves that touch me. And all your future generations will return to greet me in the soil. 

 

Muted (lyrics by Jonathan Bell Wolfe)

Could you tell me off tomorrow?

Would you wake me up?

Will you sort me out

Before I wear you down?

Could you mute me like a drum,

Hold me tight til I'm quiet

Hold a sigh til your face is dyed red?

 

Get Me Drunk Again

Before you moved your bed, before you lived with your daily dread, we used to look ahead, we used to think the signs were misread. 

And I won't say it cuts. There's too much space for what's not discussed. And all my thoughts are yours when all my words fit neatly in your drawers. Call me names. I've earned them. Can't quite place where I've heard them before. Broken voices wring my thoughts from my head to yours. Busted teeth and busted heart make me an expert. 

Before you break my heart, before you even have a chance to start, just get me drunk again, just give me one more night I can live. Call me names. I've earned them. Can't quite place where I've heard them before. Broken voices wring my thoughts from my head to yours. Busted teeth and busted hearts make us experts. 


Wind Through The Ruins

It's not the way you pictured gathering your friends around to keep from promising. Big plans that always seem so far away, escape hatch there that you might use today. 

Permanent misshapen heart that keeps you up and picks apart your sense of worth and thoughts of time. You tear it up and quote back mine. 

It's not the time to play the role you know. The more you pay attention, the more it grows. It's not case of being right or wrong. It's just the time to throw out all your songs. 

Permanent, the violence slides out of reach, and suddenly we feel so uncertain. Won't waste my breath talking all of it over again. Flip the cushions, shake the rug and take to bed in daylight hours. It's coming home. It's coming home. Where its sights set, no one knows. 

 

Secrets I