Hopeful Hands

These failures right themselves in past and present tense
There compiling these guidelines on giving up
But I've got a comma in my pocket and you've got a dot dot dot
We could steal some sugar from blank pages
We could taste life if we don't get caught

The ball point is run dry
It's standing on standby
Trapped in itself
Condemended to mediocracy

Your eyes are spelling out stories your lips won't dare to speak
Our biographies are slowly burning, it's tragically beautiful, it's painful and sweet

The ball point is run dry
It's standing on standby
Making love to it's paper as it scratches and tears

They'll write you off