truth, trust
Our own daughter of truth runs a jagged line between us
How do we fix her? How do you repair something as fragile as trust
Without first having to bust open the opening that it all began with?
Leaving you with a pile of frail angel’s dust
Because in order to fix ourselves we had to combust everything she is
Break her wings
Bring her down
So we can look into her eyes with sadness and despair
Tell her that she doesn’t have to run because we’ll always be there
But she notices the tilt to our heads
The way our words lie dead as soon as their born
Swirling in a midnight storm she flies away
Out of sight
Out of mind
And we’re suddenly caught up with the truth again
Unable to find her innocent youth
Causing each other strain just to seek the truth.