strangeways

but this is not a test
no this is not...

these telephone lines buzzing against
pastel evening skies
highway howl in the distance
it's winter on it's wings

heavy air on the back porch and the cigarette smoke
sinks

and i am anxious
shakey hands style
while i think it over
this and that
and the hows and whys of
them and i

and it takes a thick hit to dull this brain
and more than a little bit to refrain
from fearing for the worse

the best you can is only good enough for them

and in a grimm grotto
the writing on the wall
"you only live to tell a tale
where at the end you never fall"

these words, they live to comfort you
in nights this dark and long
you are fallible, your resolve is weak
you have to think that you are strong

this is the plight of the minute men
of moments present, moments past
we play this game from day to day
in hopes that we will last