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Sympathy is a knife

de Midnight Colors

She was younger, so much younger
Last December was many years ago
She pulls her hair back, rolls her sleeves up
Trying not to choke me on her own sorrow

What happened? Where am I?
All these excuses that I must sell
My life is like a minute hand
How long before I reach the twelve?

Alone, and far from home
How am I supposed to conquer the world
Tied to this stone?

He dances, takes chances
Ripping holes in an otherwise perfect day
He drives on towards the office, drinks his coffee
and wishes he could go out to play

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