your face in shadow by waitin’ for

Crashed the car,

Car troubles seem to be where it’s at,

At this rate I’m not gonna make it, I ain’t gonna,

Gonna be really late,

Late for the lucky, for the heroes, for the sinners,

Sinners guised in the robes of saints,

Saints scarred with empty emblems of peace,

Peace that’s so invisible you have to squint to find it,

It’s snuggled somewhere between the sanctuary and the society,

Society of thought and disease and heartache and music of soul,

Soul that echoes in the mellow vibrations of mandolins and engines,

Engines that blow up and take my brains with them,

Them strange beings, tricksters, a threesome called the fates,

The fates that crashed my car.

~Angreek87