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Idlehands
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Floor of Tradition
There goes a piece of my soul,
traded to keep our family whole.
If it isn't the touch, it's the meds.
Dodge the deep seeded greed that can lock us siblings in the mission, chained to the floor of tradition.
Run apart by the cancer instead of clashing together again. Maybe you're just like me.
Beyond breathing old together, the goal is to learn. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will bleed.
As I rip down the beams, and beg to be dead, your lids are folded. Your mouth distracts from the scene.
Only saints have stories.
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Here's one for free: A boy becomes a man, because that is what he is expected to be.
I've a modern bone to pick with careless creators.
Make sure the damage is thick and deep in their heads. When you mate with the world, it ruins the chance for the next age to believe in a stable romance.
There goes a piece of my soul, traded to keep our family whole.
Beyond breathing old together, the goal is to learn. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will bleed.
As I rip down the beams, and beg to be dead, your lids are folded. Your mouth distracts from the scene.
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