I get nostalgic for a kind of suffering 
That lingers on the fingertips of broken words 
and half lit cigarettes 

Of forgotten fallacies 
That trip on the existential drip 
Of lyrics lost to pens without ink 

Of wine glasses, filled to the brim 
And bags of freedom 
Found between sirens fingertips 

Of desire for change 
Out of habits that just stay the same 
And cycles that repeat and repeat 
Leaving lovers in disarray 

A feeling that sits inside your soul 
Making holes that make space
For thoughts you can't contain 

A longing for change 
That grinds like the wheels of cars
Gliding on a gravel pathway that gives way
Beneath tires that can't be contained 

Feelings that don't yet have a home
And words that mean nothing when they fall on deaf ears 
Or become a symphony amongst stagnant prophesies
Lost in the swell of an ocean of change