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Something About Swordsmanship
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1
Eleven; folders filled with
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paper, green will flood.
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Thirteen; coal black nights with
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laughter, trusting tounges.
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Fifteen; cement ponds and
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car rides, pathes have crossed.
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Nineteen; boxes filled with
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IDs, green is lost.
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I've been, exchanging, thoughts with, a new wind.
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(this is, growing. this is, changing)
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This basement confides my end of the rope.
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Wave at the cancer, it's hiding in gray smoke.
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The red glass spills, and brings forth the ghost.
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The gold on this bracelet's as true as its host.
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(the ink on this hand's as true as its host.
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We're planted, we form together and bloom.
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It's green lives, with shades of blue, resign.
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We grow up, and then we change,
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and then we'll explain, and then we'll change, we die.
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Lakes gone dry, basements filled.
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Pathes gone dark, car rides hault.
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Carve the hole, place the box, lids down.
OTYKEN - STORM (Official Music Video)
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