you’re peddling lies to protect a faint faint part of yourself you’ll never figure out what’s in there got three strokes of the birch i saw you kneeling to another sun and waiting around for the child’s mother but i never wanted to see you fading away like a shadow here i’ve been waiting for you the crimson paranoid, and lord that i haven’t seen for ages only rusted debris reminds me of a faint faint part of you, and the hidden crack oppression casts an evil eye on memory but it seems to be treated carefully like a shadow