Bright White Picket Fences

The sun rises with apathetic certainty

casting it's golden rays on sights

that we'd really rather not see

so we keep our eyes shut tight

and pretend to still be dreaming

afraid of it will mean

when we are forced to face

the mess we've made

I felt for a moment we were on the verge of mending

see, we've been lying broken in the sun

crystal shards casting rainbows

onto bitter memories we can't outrun

we let the ice-cold warmth wash over us

take no time to heal, yet rise with a grace

we never show our face, never make a fuss

with not a cry, we lacerate our weary feet on the past

as we walk all over it

sewing stitches much too fast

always mending fences

(what a sight) bright white picket fences

but sometimes we're on the wrong side of them,

haven't we always been?

We dream that a pale blue sky will carry us away

when our own two feet no longer can

To bury all our problems,  we close our eyes and pray

but when it ends is no different from when it began

the blood still stains, seeping through the cracks

lower and lower it goes

as we dig ourselves holes

beneath asphault and soil and deception

and yet it always finds it's way back to us

we thought we were digging refuges

turns out they were graves

our homes but a diguise

For the lives we couldn't save

This blood could the whole world red

there is no comfort in our new magenta skies

despite all of the blood and all of the dread

we still miss the comfort of our king-sized beds

but nothing do we so miss

as the phantom kiss

of our bright white picket fences