Old words spoken sweetly
Fill the screaming silence
Pluck away the withering weeds that fill
the gaps, no in between
A simple storm is brewing
One part hope, and one part rage
Scientist is sitting in the darkroom
Watching, waiting, for the film to fade
Apron, pearls and deadly blank eyes
Mamas in the kitchen, baking apple pie
My head is hot and my hands are cold
I wonder why, pouring a glass of water
Is it that I’m waiting to die?

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