Two on this rock: a target, an arrogant one,
The reason I crow, for some reason, I may never know,
These are the faults of the hand: an imperfect arrow,
Yet these are the bones I command.

Ever I see them, on and on,
You ignored me like when we were boys,
The rules of survival say only the arrogant face their prey.

These are the wounds of my youth, ones that I still feel,
Isolation, we only played your rules,
These are the faults of the hand, an imperfect arrow,
That pencil you dug in my back, up to the letters.

Maybe when you've done burning all your bridges,
You’ll burn for me,
Maybe when you've done spent all your hand,
You’ll reach for me,
This is my song to the earth and I’ll sing it loud and clear,
How does one cut through the air?
One disappears.


Lyrics submitted by michigansdiction

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