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We speak in code
in a language neither one of us knows
every hello, hello, hello
and now I carry the tension of arrow and bow
all of the travel I have known
days tend to waste til you know they are gone
what little remains is the thing that has grown
when every thought that I think's not my own
and every film I devour has a commentator
from the past conversations that surfaced that surfaced so fast
yet the curious part, the real cause for alarm
isn't that I can't hear it again, but that it never left
if i'd any use in these arms, i'd extend them to you
but they've atrophied, are tied to me
and i've arranged this house the way I dreamed about
over 7 years spent shifting chairs around
just to sit myself back down
it's an excellent environment to hide from a crowd
so please don't point me out
the attention, it's far too loud
and every look i acquire comes with impotent words
from the past conversations that hurt, it hurts, it hurts