if glass all had round corners.

if only explanations had
a chance
(murder, she wrote)
and typing on things
which groan in tongues
with air that lies can hardly believe
doesn't the tide only sit ashore
and make the blemishes only come forth
make a listen and shed your smile
your length and breadth of knowledge stumble
you have naught but bread and crumbs, sir
offer up something worthwhile or perish
offer yourself to the world for forgiveness
haughty yer fears of the sitting aside
and watching the world with a back half alive
crumble
OH MISER
you sick to the hilt
and all of the things that you remember still.
if only for seconds
the time that you have
a blip on the radar
a soon picked scab.
it cannot be honor,
to leave lone the lady.
while eyebrows stay furrowed
and laughter is lazy
if you had a choice
to bring back the fever
the twitch in the hands
that make you a believer.
the head of the neck
of the life you had built.
the something for giving
the blood you have spilt.
and all is not spoiled
if hope would be
if hope would be happiness
all home with me.

(don't forget the love that's left)
(and not behind or on your breath)
(if i could wish the future back)
(i'd give you all the things i lack.)