I captured slow life and know it well like the back of my broken hands
We accept our solace cloaked as friendship gripped by time and modern man
A liar holds a fractured posture that says it best when nothing at all

Graced in patience and blessed with fear, scratching at my door
I can feel there's movement after fading grey and silence pass
like a shadow losing contrast as the night crawls over last

But life is surrounded by flowers in bloom, slowly dying, age is cursed and I'm trapped in a dark oak casket driven by a hearse. My eyes are filled with the years of regret, I can't take back.