These are the stories,
of which I was told,
My hands and stomach tremble.
The water runs cold.
The water runs cold
as it fills in my palm.
The water runs cold
like the silence to my song.
It brings me shivers
as it crawls down my spine,
Washing away dreams
where every things fine.
Now, this is the truth,
lo and behold,
The truth is fatal
as the water runs cold.
©2009 Matt Bohannon
©2009 Matt Bohannon