Testo In Too Deep

Good god with a thick stroke of the brush
The evening sky gets a crimson blush
I rolled downhill got some time to kill
Whistling with the jingle of the leaves

Like the chord in a though seam my soul was strung
Waiting for a hand that's skilmed and young to make it howl
Make it come undone
I turn my will away from the city core
Trot towards it’s gritty shore
Rattling the freight of park benches
Mistaken for angels

Past the neon cross the neo-lost
Ransack their pockets for a light
Poems recited into earliness

There is a man in horror banging on his chest
Drifting on a floe that's broken off the rest
And that stroke of paint I was talking about before is
Drying up and getting porous
In too deep
I'm in too deep
And I can’t get out no more