awake the fear
scratching at the door
that thin sliver hall
light
the dusted carpet tired

outside the night is restless
an airport beacon turns
and runs its white tongue
upon the clouds

and the hydro transformer sizzles
in the damp mists falling

I can feel my soul
sitting in the chair
watching me as I toss
and I know the mirror
will play another role

the open mouth of the drain
will taunt me with its darling
sigh

used to see in black and white
now i see red
no one remembers
anything i said
and the rain is falling harder on my head
lucky right now i don't mind getting wet

wish i could say
in time it will be better
it's getting to where now
it's now or never
if only i could see her number on the phone
i'd understand if you said come back, come home
(chorus)
tell me i'm not good enough to have you
i'll take my heart and break it in two

There are doors in the antechamber.
There is the always-choice to walk through any
one of them.
There are signs above the doors, a
warning to the effectiveness of being
affected.
But if it isn't known now, it will be known
sooner than later--if any door is opened,
even a little, little enough will be enough
because
nothing
will ever be the same.

There is this rage that dwells inside of me,
clawing me, stabbing me, threatening to
rip me open and make me bleed my red anger out.
I try so hard to fight it and I work so hard to
deny it, but too often it rears its monster
head and makes my tongue lash out.
I strike with poisonous words and cut with
razor lips, spilling tears and breaking trust.
I didn’t realize being nice would be this tough.