It always seems to be,
it’s at the fading of the day,
in the freedom of the night,
there is this addiction between you and me.
This tidal wave coming to kill us both
while we are lost at sea.

There is a problem with the words I’m writing.
The lines in between the lines, are the things I want to say.
Subtext in texts at 2am.
The words you say back, you slip in my ear,
Just one more, you are my comfort, my cadence, my fear.

I left death in the sandbox,
After playing for a while,
I killed a good man,
To make it back home in exile.

Maybe I don’t want to be sane.
These lines keep me insane,
insane maintains this addiction to you and me.
I’ve seen death and don’t fear it.
I’ve delivered death and didn’t mind it.
My fear is losing this addiction,
scared I’ll sober up.

On the forefront, on the stage,
bloodied from the desert and on trial,
for ending what could have been a good man.
To women, drink and war.
Running from the consequence
of being under the influence.

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