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Out of touch
by
Field Medic
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In the clock tower walls Like an infant he crawls To the cabinet to search for salvation And as the hour is late The witches relate To his affinity for mixing drops of poison And by the birds first morning call He hasn't slept at all Tears fall when he's forced to face his own reflection Oh, but how could he change When nothing stands in his way? His life is empty like riding on the last tram He's fallen out of touch And fantasies of some past life Haunt him like so many sprites Who's wings buzz to the fatal tune of times passing Like a pallbearеr he mourns Convinced he wеars a crown of thorns But in reality he's just some vagrant Who's forgotten how to love Forgotten how to heal Forgotten how to feel anything besides surrender Oh, it's God's wicked game To take all of those away Once you've finally won the race that you trained for Have you fallen out of touch?
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