A Clown and His Pipe

There's better ways for us to waste our days
Than returning stares that we borrowed for too long
For too long, swallowed up by an empty page

What starvation feeds you, devourer
Of the words of a thousand authors and poets, alike?
Wells have emptied to whet your thirst
So I'll shake out to the last, a drop of fluency
To carve ink into these precious words
To dedicate a thought in desperation

We could light a fire and forge a silver tongue
Drawn beneath our blunt remarks
Fashioned from all of our meaningless change

What would it take, what would it prove, to wrench them from my heels, to shed them from my heart?

Swallowing swords, sharpened by turning cheeks between blows
I feel this is better left a performers art
It's a narrow throat that keeps a razor's edge from the heart
I'd rather not speak in tongues
But I'll take every breath
I'll make every breath a piper, charming flames
Singing and dancing, out from their smouldering bed

We could light a fire and forge a silver tongue
Drawn beneath our blunt remarks
Fashioned from all of our meaningless change
What would it take, what would it prove, to wrench them from my heels, to shed them from my heart?

Swallow the pen, devour the sword
Inhale the proverbs whole

Spinning on static, gouged before the peak
In this chaos of frequencies it's so hard to speak

This noise is nameless
Stumbling like a beggar
Desperate for some kind of change

We could light a fire and forge a silver tongue
Drawn beneath our blunt remarks
Fashioned from all of our meaningless change
What would it take, what would it prove, to wrench them from my heels, to shed them from my heart?