Whiskey Sipper - East Of The Wall

Step back, put your weapons away.

I’m going on alone.

In time, as your mercy decays, we’re left to dissolve.

If I was suffering, I’d cut the ties that were never meant to bind.

But I’m so tired now.

So you’re talking in rhyme.

The rhythm escapes you.

Don’t ask for more.

Forgot all your lines, let it erase you.

Don’t ask for more.

Applause has the worth of it’s bearer.

The cheers will bleed through with the laughter.

Loose with fast hands, and fumbling into a rough noose.

I’ve fitted better knots, but not without precious time.

For some jobs cheap will do.

Stole through weak locks, and often into a den of wolves.

I’ve heeded caution some, but often not every time.

For some jobs cheap will do.

Step back, put your weapons away.

I’m going on alone.

In time, as your mercy decays, we’re left to dissolve.

Bind my hands.

We’ll settle this.

Let the light, let the fire be forged on some higher peak.

When you pass me by, let the flaming torch you carry rain down searing.

This chemical let’s me breathe as carefully we plot our wars that never have an

ending.

The grievances you laid on me, spoken many times before,

never were about me.

Loose with fast hands, and fumbling into a rough noose.

I’ve fitted better knots, but not without precious time.

For some jobs cheap will do.

Stole, frequent, through weak locks of passers by, and often into a den of

wolves.

I’ve heeded caution some, but often not every time.

For some jobs cheap will do.