when i rise with the sun
you show me how to sleep
these veins are open, my heart pours out
when i tire and wither, i'm tired
and i'm withered, and the promise of more
hangs like dew inside my mouth
just to see one simple fleck, i'd have
to run a hundred miles
but i'd do it, yeah, i'd do it in a day
it's not a problem, or a trouble
for a marathon-man like me
i take the bait and do it every time
so i guess here's what i'm asking:
is this blood here real or plastic
i've been victim of synthetics time before
we are frames along a hallway
and it's hard to see things your way
all square and neat and never known before.
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