now listening to: catch us the foxes by mewithoutyou

"i'll ring the doorbell till you let me in.
I can no longer tell,
where you end and
where i begin..."

You can only laugh. You can only cry. And, by and by, the feeling you felt was never the one you wanted. It is funny. It is sad. It is painful. It is rewarding. Which parts are which? You may do the sorting. The sort of thing that labels the total anomalies of mystery. Cuz, we have to have a name for every thing, right? What happens to us... what we do... where we've been and who...
who we are.
We are nothing.

"Grape on the vine,
grape on the vine,
we've be alone a long time...

... why not be crushed
and make wine..."

'We all make mistakes,' is what they may tell you. They or may not realize the weight of those wicked words that whisper between their wet whistlers. We make mistakes that ruin life, that shatter our hope, that are violently consumed like meat thrown to the wolves.
Leaving scraps of a four-part valve system slithering between our fingers.

"Six of my closest friends,
will dig up the ground.
All my accomplishments,
gently lowered down..."

Then we watch the wolves devour our heart that lies pumping on the ground. With our eyes fixed as if it were wildly fascinating. You don't know if you lost your heart, she stole it, or you heaved it across the wooded endangerment.

But you do know this. Something is .............. missing.

Ouch.

"Grape on the vine,
grape on the vine,
we've be alone a long time...

Son of a widow,
raised from the dead.
Where did his sould go,
when he died again?"

shalom.