Sometimes when he speaks, the words soar. Beautiful words, perfect words, falling from his lips like a waterfall, crashing down on their heads and making them think. Sometimes he inspires and riles and when he closes his mouth people nod at each other and murmur yes, yes, that's right or when he closes his mouth it's because they're yelling, screaming, shrieking their outrage at the injustices done, ready to give all they have for his cause. His words build an army.
But sometimes his tongue is clumsy in his mouth, and every word he says is wrong. Not the meaning behind them, that is always the same, but the words themselves crash into each other, some too big and some too small, never fitting together like he wants them to. The people stare at him with blank faces, uncomprehending, uninspired. Some complain and throw things. Most simply wander away.
Those days, even his own belief in the cause starts to wane.
Some nights I wish that my lips could build a castle
Some nights I wish they'd just fall off
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But sometimes his tongue is clumsy in his mouth, and every word he says is wrong. Not the meaning behind them, that is always the same, but the words themselves crash into each other, some too big and some too small, never fitting together like he wants them to. The people stare at him with blank faces, uncomprehending, uninspired. Some complain and throw things. Most simply wander away.
Those days, even his own belief in the cause starts to wane.
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