Seth MacLean - The Impact From Leaving | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Seth MacLean
• The Impact From Leaving

scouring down a dirt road; overwrought.
susceptible from the series of events that led to my inevitable departure. knuckles cut cardinal red, clutching the steering wheel, shaking profusely. pieces of my bedroom walls soaked tea-warm, nestled in little highways coursing through my palms. parking lot rendezvous, an accomplice to my alcoholism, you bought me rum and wine. and to think seconds earlier, i was being thrown out of a job that i hated. tell me it's commendable, where's my round of applause? or do i have to wait until the mechanics at the back get the sign working again?
i played my swan song for my best friend, less than negligent to what i'd do next. went off the road two or three times, flustered; frightened.
tapping my fingers to the pulse, beating from the sunburn on the back of my neck. the drive was strenuous, with a trunk full of groceries and liquor, sponsored by my final pay check and everyone i couldn't bring myself to talk to. see, i could have saved myself the trouble; wrapped my car around any tree like fur scarf, willing to take a life to make beauty. i was lost, both in theory, and in directions and the leather on my steering wheel was merciless to the cuts on fingers. i let out an anxiety waterfall, it crashed and creeped it's way to my collarbones; little oceans. was it that i'd been listening to "the whipgrass" in excess, or was this just me decomposing?
i pulled into the driveway of a cottage i inherited as a product of my father's lost love. climbed through the panelled window. i let myself in. i hadn't had phone service in at least an hour. i was comfortable; in isolation. threw myself onto the chesterfield; in desperation. poured myself a stiff drink; in co-operation with my drunken conscience. my heart was the lost city of atlantis, but i could hear the waves at the surface through the vibrations in my fingers. i watched the reflections of the dimming lights dance on the water, i saw the poverty and loneliness in the whimsical knots that unravelled into the harbour, articulating with that same soft undersea flow that broke free from the dam behind my eyes.
i poured my drink on my wounds, take that as you will.
i felt the burn of last summer stab and sting
at the spaces between my arteries,
"i've never felt a pain like that since:"
listed on the inside of my forearm.
"the impact from leaving.
the impact from leaving.
the impact from leaving,
the impact from leaving."
grieving, meaning i never quite got over it.
i was reinvented that night, wrote myself into a foreign brand of sadness,
i lit this fire, and i was now aware of that.
i stared into it's violent, gambling eyes and burned everything.
my writing, my paintings, my letters.
every thing i've never said, was said and lost that night.

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