In my defense I’ve been troubled
before I know what is right wrong;
under this tomb I’ve been buried,
my ears will be deaf from song.
Know you are wise sweet doves
as you float high in the air clouds
will push to float push to shove
and pain is what we it allow.
Take this tension I fail to mention
my incision I’ve made with a knife
is a scar now I am torn bruised beat
like some radical beaten life.
I’ve known the pain of remembering
forget I try to often so I might
be the person I need to be to evolve
my mind I learn I know not this fight.
I want to kiss the world and be born
again in this sin where must my friends
tell me does this pain ever end
in the scope of what we must pretend?