The Lore

I seal my pockets with small cash,
bury hymns when on my own.
If I could breathe in this one wish,
it would be, "You're not alone."


Under heavy bears and prys,
a silent burden hits small towns,
talking of abandoned wishes,
trudging through, like we're alone.


And I try...
breaching water under my tongue.
How long?
How long...
do I have to wait to finish the spoil?


When walking on travesties, filled
with desire,
talk among the masses seals the
brim of your glasses, and I
want you waking still.
I want you waking still.
I want you waking still with
the lore.