Whenever I see a vapor trail
I’m reminded how these things can fail.
Ten thousand miles broke my spine,
but now out of orbit I am fine.

Whenever I touch this old brick wall
I remember how these things can stall.
Your stone and mortar sealed my fate
but now that I’m breathing it’s too late.

You go away. I’ll be waiting here with a smile on my face.
You go away. I’ll always be here, but in a different place.

And I’ll put your letters in the drawer
like a ticking heart beneath the floor.
Ten thousand beats and you’ll be back.
Eye of a needle, and all that.

And I’ll leave off waiting by the phone.
It only remind me, I’m alone.
Your loaded silence pierced my side.
I’ll wait for the water to subside.

You go away. I’ll be waiting here, mask firmly in place.
You go away. I’ll always be here, with someone else’s face.

This Sisyphitic bliss is hard to keep inside a fist
so tightly closed around what we remain.
The novelty is that your flight was held at bay until tonight
and every vapour trail is damned and leading you away.

I’ve got a thousand miles to go,
and so I thought I’d let you know
that I’m not really there,
finally getting somewhere.

But you have carried me this far,
with every breath a fresh-laid scar.
As if to say it’s fine,
dearest son of mine.

I wrote this quickly tonight… and I need to write more but here it is for now.

This untenable position isn’t fit for either
being something elemental or for breathing ether
but in the darkness of our being is a form to gather
like a shadow, like a wraith, something I would rather
not forget. We’re not there yet.

And darling, when will you leave your beautiful disaster.
I promise, I promise nothing, no happy ever after.

dan (writes songs)

How did we get from there to here?
I remember when we weren’t a vale of tears.
And what do we do to rescue this?
I remember when we wanted to take the risk.
If I knew the words to write
I’d scribble them down tonight,
but all these sentences are tangled on our tongues,
with solemn promises still growing in our lungs,
the phrases that we’ve never said.
Things that weigh us down like lead.

When will you finally come around?
I can still recall the fury and the sound
of when it was better not to speak,
back before the signals crossed and went so weak.
But now the silence screams your name.
I’ll point the finger, take the blame,
and you’ll rescind what little feeling you admit,
to break the tension while you’re crucifying it.
And I will not resist the nails,
as every resolution fails.

How do we get from here to there?
I remember when we weren’t about to tear.
And how do write a different tale?
I remember when we weren’t about to fail.
If I knew the words to say,
I’d bottle them for you today.
But still, this sentence is a unfulfilling meal
I take with hemlock to dilute the way it feels.
All these jagged phrases, said
to burn inside my heart like lead.

Now the sun is going down, like it always seems to
on our sandcastle desire. And after all we’ve been through
I will go.

As our twilight paints you grey this old heart is beating
in the same old figure-eight we can’t help repeating.
I will go.

And when I go will you leave me something
sitting at the side of the road,
something beautiful so I can remember
something honest so that I will know.

Yeah, I knew it all along, how we’d end in stasis.
Strung like wire between the poles, so afraid to face it.
I will go.

And you deny that you’ve been taut, but I see the straining
at the traces, and the calm that you’re always feigning.
I will go.

And when I go will you leave me something
sitting at the side of the road,
something beautiful so I can remember
something honest so that I will know.

Why don’t I ever feel like I can tell you anything?
Are we so weak that simple honesty will cut the strings?

You can follow in my steps. Tell me where I’m headed.
But if you ever find me there, you’re the one who said it.
I will go.

This is our confession
that we need you, dearest Lord.
we’ve failed to learn the lesson
that experience affords

Oh, these idols holy in our sight
golden calfs of things we’ve gotten right.

How could we so soon forget heart-broken Calvary?
Be the clay for eyes that have forgotten how to see.
Lay these atlars low and in submission at your feet
till the day we come on bended knee.

This is a confession
of our arrogance and pride
but water flows for healing
from your ever-wounded side.

Oh, these rules we make to take your place,
where once we stood and trembled at your grace.

How could we so soon forget heart-broken Calvary?
Be the clay for eyes that have forgotten how to see.
Lay these atlars low and in submission at your feet
till the day we come on bended knee.

Will you not forgive us
and give us life anew?
Will you stand in mercy
as we come to worship you?

Oh, we lay our praises at your feet
and crawl to where the waves will wash us clean.

How could we so soon forget heart-broken Calvary?
Be the clay for eyes that have forgotten how to see.
Lay these atlars low and in submission at your feet
till the day we come on bended knee.

This is how it works: it comes and goes,
always in the wings, it ebbs, it flows,
and we should work together.
Don’t you call it love and keep it in.
A battle never fought you never win.
But we could fight together.

You trade risk for peace.
I’ll taunt the karma police.
You set out the fleece,
but we should live together.

If I were a path and you the tread
would the gravel here be running red?
Oh, we should walk together.
Don’t you call it love and let it die.
A decent animal, no air supply.
We should breathe together.

You trade risk for peace.
I’ll taunt the karma police.
You set out the fleece,
but we should live together.

These words red in their birth and painful,
screaming their sour lungfuls,
calling you February.

You sift laughter to find me frowning
and point out the words as reason,
calling me February.

But it’s not you, it’s me, I am getting bitter.
But it’s not me, it’s you, you are getting better.

These words green at the heart and hoping;
lean rings for desert seasons;
rooted in February.

You paint these coins into a corner;
afraid of admitting interest;
buried in February.

But it’s not me, it’s you, trying to be bitter.
But it’s not you, it’s me, tying it together.

So tell me now, what’s the use
of having these muscles that you never use.
So tell me now that you can’t discard
how it works, how it got so hard.

You’re so screwed up, you can’t deny it,
but I would have walked you through it,
if not for February.

I’m so broken at every nightfall,
I’d love you again, I promise,
maybe in February.

If it’s hard then it must be better,
so your letter said inbetween the lines.
It doesn’t kill you, it makes you stronger,
you’re no longer feeling so alive.

Oh, you’re building a wall
you’re building it all around your heart.
Oh, you’re digging a moat,
keeping remote, filling it with sharks.

If you’re lonely you must be growing,
if you’re flowing backwards up this hill.
When you make my decision for me,
will you warn me just before the kill?

Oh, you’re building a plane,
trying to stay sane and logical.
Oh, you’re in this place,
trying to face the impossible.

And I am writing a song
about how, about how you’re wrong.
And I am building a fence
to the tune of how you never make sense.

It’s alright to be in love.
It’s just a figment of your imagination.
And true love doesn’t really exist.
It’s lifelong movement to incarceration,
It’s alright to be in love.
It’s just a thing you feel until it’s faded.
But you will bind its cord around your wrist,
and love the way its strands are braided.

If it’s easy, then it’s mistaken:
nothing taken, nothing given in.
It doesn’t kill you, it makes you harder:
and the martyr twists with a broken grin.

Oh, you’re building a wall,
you’re building it all around your heart.
Oh, you’re digging a hole
all round your soul and filling it with sharks.

You can have a piece of me to keep,
if the peace would only help me sleep.
You can have a piece of me to hold,
to steady your hands as you grow old.

Do you remember all all those games we played,
and the promises we made?
Left to be kept.
You’re still inventing rules.

Do you remember opening your eyes
to watch me watch you rise,
but all that is left
is pixeled paper. Fuel.

You can call me your nonstarter,
but I will end what I began
back in the day. I swear I’ll find a way.
And you can run just a little harder
but I will trace the path you ran,
so far away. I swear I’ll find you there,
not so far away.

Do you still wear the silver as a seal?
I feel it, steel on steel.
Cold as a grave,
and warm as fingers go.

Do you still shy away from making signs
to sand and drawing lines?
Look how they fade
in tide and undertow.

You can call me your nonstarter,
but I will end what I began
back in the day. I swear I’ll find a way.
And you can run just a little harder
but I will trace the path you ran,
so far away. I swear I’ll find you there,
not so far away.