No Amount of Sound - Into It. Over It.

Footsteps,

they followed mother’s death

They followed suit and peeled the paint off the walls

Behind a metal desk inside a modern mausoleum

you have found your calling, calling for fall

No amount of sound

could make us fade the way you’re fading now

Lost way,

current emotional states

left folding gold under a fluorescent light

It’s a touch agoraphobic,

I suggest a catatonic height

but hypochondriac’s suggestion weight

I held your hand

I drew a line in the sand

I couldn’t bare to think your losing your mind

But when the red flags bolted up is when your outlook started shifting

Just a shift requires valued time

You need to write this down

No amount of sound

could make us fade the way you’re fading now

When will you fade out?

Footsteps,

they followed mother’s death

They followed suit and peeled the paint off the walls