Bag of Bones - blue moonlight | Текст песни

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• Bag of Bones
• blue moonlight

heavy thoughts on hillside
feeling the world slow down in my head
am i down or just a piece of trash?
who's to blame but myself?
staying between the yellow lines is only hard at night

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[poem by matt amandola]

There are holes in my hands.
I like to pretend they are not there.
I like to put them in a back of my mind
To simply imagine they don't exist.

But that's hard to do
When everything you try to hold on to
Slips right through them.
And I can feel them ache.
That dope pain that never fades,
And never leaves my mind,
And slowly drives me insane.

And sometimes it makes me think
That this might be a mistake,
That maybe I shouldn't ignore these little gaping holes in my hands.
But I'll keep up pretending anyway.

And once again everything good just slips away.
When something beautiful and elegant
Gently floats into my palms,
And then embraces my grasp,
And greets me with a smile, and I smile at it back,
With some child like naivety,
Believing that this good thing will stay,
That it won't reach these fishers.
These holes that tum me everyday.

And for a moment I'm weightless,
And for a moment I can breath,
And for a moment I can say I'm finally happy.
I've got something I can hold on to.
I've got something I can finally call my own.
I've got something I can finally care about.

Something that depends on me and I equally depend on it.
Trusting that I won't ever drop it,
And I'll keep it cozy in my palms forever,
Until eventually it slips away,
And it passes through my riddle broken hands.

And reality hits, and it's gone for good.
Because I can't control it from slipping through.
Everything I've ever cared about,
Ever will care about,
Will slip through my fingers.

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