A Sheep. A Well

ink spills from forests of paper, writing above us of blue skies and lovers. Harmless teeth caught on cotton, these voices are muted ambitions are fleeting. We all ramble down the same road, our clocks spin on borrowed time, we all ramble down the same road, but what I hear is broken and buried lines. Ink spills from forests of paper, writing above us of blue skies and lovers. Harmless teeth caught on cotton, these voices are muted ambitions are fleeting and I'm not devoid of blame, but a heart beats behind every word I say. Where will you drink when these wells run dry? All wheels slow from time to time. Hope, it rains down from every word, a feeling from you I've not yet heard and you sing it like you mean it, but I know you don't. Cold and distant not loving, these voices are cold and distant not loving. Mean what you say what you mean...