The Raw And Searing Flesh

i never want to see you in the raw and searing flesh i don't ever want to hear you singing softly to the dead i never want to feel your skin running warm along my side i don't ever want to sink that way again it would be easier to die to die i'm tending the parts of my frustrations burning leaves on buried dreams kneeling in to rake the ashes i'm in the rain, it's colder out my hands are free, my lungs are proud your forgivness is a failing fiction your forgivness is a failing fiction these flames have never burned so high i won't be starting in your eyes i'm trying hard to remember the way the smoke drifts through the air we'll all be dead come november four months out of every year every year (every year) i won't be staring in your eyes every year