I scout holes in people
Holes that can't be filled
I sense your broken spirit

That will never be healed

You are still waiting

For your greatest day to come
In this rough world out here
Where people when they get from you

What they can get from you
They get mean with you


Shaped by accident
We all carry stories
Of accidental pain

Deeply encoded images
We flash elimatically
And forget right after


See me as a private collector
Willing to add to his gallery

It will be a private viewing
Of your personal iconography of pain
I'll keep a part of you with me

But take your dawn away in return