The Purpose of Small Animals - Fearful-Avoidant | Текст песни

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• The Purpose of Small Animals
• Fearful-Avoidant

Loves crosses on his walls and semi-colons in his pages, but he loves Kurt Vonnegut and sometimes Charles Bukowski. He's always guilty, too, or at least he feels that way. He thought about dying, too, but he's found God—a warning sign.

I did not know what she meant, but I believed. She sat high above the earth, with wings that stretched into the void of the sky. I was arranged and displayed, neatly dressed and afraid, stained by the charade I put on every day.

I find these thoughts interrupted by sighs. I do try, but the word dies; it flatlines. But my voice could carry these obstacles self-imposed. My voice would take the wind to your windowsill. Yet the word might get lost in the night.

And all impurities would be cleansed from the lone soul syllable as it made its way through the dark and impure, the oblivious and obscure; it would not arrive, for all that would be left is a sigh.

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