frank

Now that you’re here, there is nothing left to say.
I’ve spent countless nights in heartache watching as my brain decays.
Have the clouds continued rolling just to keep me entertained?
Am I dead already, dressed for bed, and locked away?
It’s all the same, always all the same.
Searching for silence in this casket where I lay,
is there certainly some certainty that I’ve not gone insane?
Does the sun still rise while I’m lucidly awake?
Will there be a surprise waiting for me at your gates?
Have the clouds continued rolling just to keep me entertained?
Am I dead already, dressed for bed, and locked away?
It’s all the same, always all the same.
you are a nice surprise