The Resurgence of the Marionettes

And If I
Could tell you
A story,
I would lie.
Yeah, I would lie.

Because when we speak,
We smile,
But don't worry,
That's alright.
Yeah, That's alright.

It tugs on my strings
Tug of war on the arms of bitter kings.
Cut before the bones
These tattered wings have lost their need
Those battered strings
Stitch my knuckles like cast iron millipedes
Lock my wrists and employ the reach
Force my knee
And I will pray

But I
Am not
A wounded eagle.
I am not the child in the corner.
I am not a leper.
I am not another blood spot on your dead man walkway.
I am not broken glass.
I am not
Broken.

Because there is something.
Here.
There is a sidewalk on my forehead.
I am thorns formed on necks of orchids
I'm chorus effects and born-again's
I am nothing more than aborted chords,
Dormant, abhorrent to the core and
I can’t even feel the four’s anymore.
I'm knocked up with lava rocks,
Pregnant with cobblestones.
The soldered bones of that copper gold
Splinter in this coddled cold.

Because this chest is a stalk of cherry pits
Wrought with carefree grit
And a hint of kerosene
It lights up the string theories inside of him
That glassy grin is widenin' but,
You know, In spite of them

Because I wear streaks of monotone and serotonin.
Bouncing from the edges of the end-zones and
Dotted lines seep through my pores like dark ink
And divide the centers,
Wrapping and interweaving through the surroundings
Enveloping the shells of bystanders.

I've got a whole lot of broken clocks round my throat,
But I bring the fire of a thousand coarse soldiers.
Distorting the functions,
Breaking the age of somethin',
I return in blazing eruption.

And If I
Could tell you
A story,
I would lie.
Yeah, I would lie.

Because when we speak,
We smile,
But don't worry,
That's alright.
Yeah, That's alright.

She swims deep in my horizons,
Draws my gaze towards the return,
And it keeps me.
me.