Hot Cross Requiescat Letras:
A blessed hand to cover the cursed mouth born of
faith when tiptoeing around flights of fancy
informs sonic acrobatics. An esoteric words for
what never held true; a complicated rite forcing
an answer through. These are prayers for a sense
left for dead or an elegy on the end of a life I
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once led. Learning that we inhabit a bedtime
story, prophets whisper to fools. Footbound and
adrift and losing a game for which we've written
the rules. Rip my heart to pieces. Scatter them
all to the wind. And it's an ironic twist of fate,
this bit of hypocritical fare, when we're taught
to look passed the suitable answers, watch them
dissolve and not even care.
Letras: Requiescat Hot Cross [final]