Tell Them I'm Sorry - East Of The Wall

I suppose it’s quieter now…

You can’t hear the wails enswarming?

Well, that’s a gasp of relief for this small room

God, just think of the stress if they’re sated

Don’t tend to the herds at thy gate

All the parlance in the fields — it’s a tempting charade

The guilt gnaws worse in through all the sorry

So, no, we won’t deal anymore

The pull of the faith, the bait of hope, tore through this road

That clawing outside?

Why can’t we simply turn back tides?

Bring the mouths to the door

It’s enough to turn cold

With the hands open palm

It’s the blood that turns cold

I can’t

Don’t feel like you want to

Don’t meet their eyes

Don’t seem like you want to

Don’t act obliged

Don’t feel that tide’s pull like you want to