sleight of heart,
A losing hand, a darkness,
Cancer of the the soul,
Spread sheets and work demands,
Cut backs and a need to need,
Till you forget the small things
And everything feels wrong.
You could of been a contender,
Ecerybody's blue eyed boy,
Open doors and pull out chairs,
Brought up right in the wrong time,
But you know what?
I do all my own stunts,
And that is easy to forget,
Leaves me holding a little tighter
To broken pieces.
The days get shorter,
Till you can't face the freeze of the passing breeze,
Can't hack the cold and dark of the morning
As the trees lose their leafs,
Stole by the passing wind,
The nights last forever.
It doesn't make a difference
That the clocks go back,
The best days have left,
And I'm having another panic attack. .
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