No. I'll take the next one.

[pseudoslattern]

These open wounds throb in unison to a beat I've never heard.
These ears strain to grasp an understanding of a song
that's spoken in a foreign tongue.
Rough skinned hands cup water against your tender lips and
drinking could mean salvation.
In a world where nothing seems to matter
and these different faces move torwards the same destination
I'm left to wonder with a forced smile
which method of transportation do I take?
We'll gather flowers in the summer and
during the winter we'll build castles in the snow.
I'm stealing time that isn't mine.
I'm often waiting for the next train.
I'll share a little secret
about where I hide the loot...
Beneath these decorative lights
and among these crafted ornaments hides
all of the time I've stolen.
As this face begins to melt with age
and these fingers struggle to bend
I'm left to wonder with a forced smile
Can I have one more go at this again?
I'm not pleased with those I've cherished
and all of the things I thought were dear
I wanted to manage the time I stole
with a little more care.
I'll teach myself the language of the song that I don't know
to mend the future before it becomes the damaged past.