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de Brian Crain

my arms are full of humanity
i stole it from you when you were smoking
and i know you won't miss it
not even a bit

accidents happen
but you never did
i'm the forgotten change in your pocket
of the old winter coat
the newspaper's stacking, neat fold

oh, to be held again
to be spent or read
put aside again
that would be the greatest thing
but your fire's burning out
i think you know by now
that i'm getting sick and tired
of waiting

so we'll sit side by side and we'll stare
hating that we share the same air
there's no room for speaking
and nothing will ever be said
we're the babies in cradles at night
sleeping peacefully but only out of fright
that if we wake up
the monsters will come track us down

we want to be held again
to be close or dead
sung to sleep again
that would be the greatest thing
but our fire's burning out
i think we know by now
that we're both sick and tired of waiting

the floors i sleep on at night
they speak to me
their strange voices tell me
all things true
you say when something's dead, it's dead
theres just no reviving it
just bury it
and move on, move on

oh, to be held again
to be held again
to be held again
oh, oh

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