Silence your entire life/
You just need to listen to what will make you whole/
And who you care about most/
Balance that picture frame over and over again/
But you know it’s never truly level/
Tilling your own grave/
Tilling your own grave/
If only your ashes wouldn’t divide when your soul subsides/
That concave placard never fit in the convexed hole/
And what you hold so close dies/
When the earth folds in on itself/
Keep your feet on the ground/
Tilling your own grave/
Tilling your own grave/

Well, we ran in circles that day and rather than trying to stray away the pain, we made a refrain of everything we needed slain. I would never turn my back on you for fear of being stabbed, yeah, this old hand is one that you can’t grab. You complained and filed complaint against the trains that were crossing through your life. No one was ever able to hold water in their hands for long before it strains and the thinner it became the darker your varnished heart became. I would rather speak in my own broken language alone than to sit around and tease time with my youth. Growing so old from the carbon that brews in your bones. A soapbox house of cause and glass so stop tossing your fucking stones around. Manic as an addict, I’ve had it and I’ll retract before I get bit. Save your excuses for fabricating the net of lies strung from the veins of your corrupt friends and well disciplined reprimands.

Silenced my whole empty life/
I just need to bleed to truly make myself whole/
And I’m who you really don’t care about most/
Balance that picture frame over and over again/
But you know it’s never truly level in the end/
Sun has set: All darkens/
Still tilling your own grave/
Tilling your own grave//

Written by Baz
Oct 1 2009