Feeble Fairytale

They're waiting now, won't you join You shouldn't worry about being freed What's your time for a little pleasure? Consumed by all, consumed

The songs we sang on days where the sun shies away Sweet and melancholy tunes to pass the time These songs filled with the stories of so many Each line a voice, each chorus a rite And yet the songs we sing have come and gone Replaced now by someone else's tune Voices and stories almost passing for our own But the tone is off and the beat too simple, Repeating and repeating and repeating The same chorus, the same melody, the same voice Like a songbird mimicking the sounds it's heard Lacking its own call The songs we sing no longer hold meaning They no longer hold our voice Our soul For the only songs we sing now Are hollow ones, sung from a voice that belongs to no one

The foundation shifts and settles Creaking, groaning, crying The walls have cracked and split The support beams are failing Sinking, quaking, moaning The structure crumbles from within Sometimes this house so damaged With its rumbling, trying joists Doesn't seem so far from saving But no amount of touch ups and renovations Could repair these broken, aching bones

In my bones, beneath my skin, A fire burns Sometimes just a smolder, crackling in time to my pulsing heart, Other times, the fire burns, A raging inferno, setting my whole being ablaze as the flames dance in my veins And yet the one I mourn, Is not the person I would be, if the fire didn't burn, But the me that you will never truly know, For the fire doesn't burn beneath your skin