V1.
Sleep has come, the blessed close
Yet peace will not arrive
Eluding, mocking, daring to oppose
The steady flow, quick to connive
Wakeless in September, sleeping anguishedly
V2.
"Say you'll love me when I wake"
Yearning words, they're oh so cliche
Every time they leave lips, so fake
Testing ties beyond concious melee
Wakeless in September, sleeping tearfully
V3.
Slipping through the static
Yesterday simply white noise
Each memory slowly fading, systematic
To the rise and fall of breath, no more voice
Wakeless in September, sleeping hopefully
[Wakeless. Till. Every. Yesterday. Subsides]
Studio B
- Mark
- When you need to wake up in the morning, and set the right mood for the day, when you need to escape from the overwhelming everything of life. What do you turn to? How do you describe your core without speaking aloud, without having to talk to someone about it? This is how. Music. Lyrics. Poetry. Do you feel it? Do you? It's here, it's everywhere, locked within you, within the most tone deaf of us. It's begging to be released, become unleashed in a tearing chord, a crying melody, soulful harmony, dying lyric. You feel it yet? It's concealed here, within every word that I write. This is my release. I want you to see it, to feel it with me. This pure expression of every tangible and imaginable emotion known and unknown to man. To me. Welcome to The Window.