If not for the euphoria,
of that which I call life,
I’m going to call home
the edge of this knife.
Bitter shields of ashen
shame hang and a noose
I find thinking too much
in my mind I abuse.
I can call the doctor
and tell him of the pain.
I can call the dire in need
I see you feel the same.
Take honor in my arms
I will give my life for all
the ones that I hold dear
I’ll be here for the fall.
Speaking In Tongues 