Others (a call to arms)

[semigrounded]

White washed faces call me out for the sake of brevity.
Listening to their stories uncoil I get a sense of familiarity.
I talk up to them and they talk down to me,
I forgot each ones name so I stand there and breath.

I talk about my troubles, I talk about my past.
The fast way their eyes glitter signs a way,
I can't see this to last.

I stage a call to arms from ancient claims of grandeur.
Their excited and offended by a simple display of splendor.
I write a song strait out of mind,
they sit on it for hours at a time.

After their done they scream complacent, the eyes again, they shake.
This faulty moment show's a flaw in my construction, the role I'm meant to take.

Showers of time give me a moment of absurdity.
Disarming causality wakens a sense of brevity.
Shake the foundations, right, hear me to dismissal.
Deepseeded images touch off of a shiny new pistol.
“Whistle a tune when you shake the world.
Skin the compassion for the fetal and furled.”

I touch a whisper that breathes from the white washed faces.
It seems they were turned the other way.