quell

close the door, let's make it last

we've had enough time to waste

you're calling my name down the hall

like you did when i was a baby

if we fall in love too fast,

we're sleeping just to wake

we are just fallen sons

who shame our fathers names

and judge love in quantities. but

enough to quell your taste,

to feel your rage

and though my hatred is still sated by

satyrs, saints, patrons, and passing life

an indignation that i must face alone to fight

a fever condemned to all of me

our bodies will tremble like paper planes

in the wind, frail

when we raise glasses

to toast the sky.

judging love in quantities, but just

enough to quell your taste,

to soothe your rage

and though my hatred is still fated by

fathers, farces, crosses, and liar's vows

i face this fate, i'm fated alone to fight

a benediction to my own right

alfred, what would you have said that day?

enough to keep me sane,

but i'm still worrying.

all these theories have come too late.

have i come too late?

and now were too late.

count your mistakes,

count your blessings.

for we have courage,

for we have color.

count your mistakes;

we're not running.

i'll always struggle to keep up.