Hypothetically Speaking II

your words shakespearean
I'll give you that
and yet their arrow, shooting sharp
meets a target you made up
what kind of son?
who am I, you ask
your ward, apprentice, chosen charge
burned out at arm's length
with every right and reason
to call you out for treason
just like an echo unabsorbed
all my wordsworth, come undone
the pill most bitter is the permanent one
pulled to pieces
pulling through?
without being perfect I could easily be perfect to you



Credits
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

Link