Ashes, Ashes
Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
Figurines on a mantlepiece, packed into boxes to make room for something newer, prettier. Left clutching at shadows and echoes, wondering. Was it ever there, the paradise where innocence can live untainted? Or was it our imagination, our idealistic notion as we tried to escape from the harshness of reality? How much can we trust of our treasured memories, and is it worth it to continue to doubt?
Perhaps, one day, we'll close our eyes and realize that the glass box we keep them in is empty. Tears will splash onto it, tasting of salt, perhaps metallic like blood.
Each of us an island, made up of shattered dreams and empty houses.
Figurines on a mantlepiece, packed into boxes to make room for something newer, prettier. Left clutching at shadows and echoes, wondering. Was it ever there, the paradise where innocence can live untainted? Or was it our imagination, our idealistic notion as we tried to escape from the harshness of reality? How much can we trust of our treasured memories, and is it worth it to continue to doubt?
Perhaps, one day, we'll close our eyes and realize that the glass box we keep them in is empty. Tears will splash onto it, tasting of salt, perhaps metallic like blood.
Each of us an island, made up of shattered dreams and empty houses.