I have been waiting all day, by the front door.
Taping withered photographs to the floor.
Pondering and contemplating how I want it all.
Hoping you won't notice that the lock has been changed.
The key hole rearranged.
Though I hate to leave you, its better than to forsake you.
We must number the stars, and paint the sky.
Master an art, other then the lie.
It's not that hard to explain oneself.
Denial brings much stealth.
The gold in my pocket won't pay the debt.
The hours upon my hands won't pay the rent.
The lines in my eyes, won't show the tries.
The smiles on my lips won't turn the tide.
So, strip the floor of its pride.
Counting numbers to stay alive.