Daughters and Sons

there’s no home for us here.
no stories to tell.
they stacked the decks with shining lights, with undercuts and sabotage.
did we get enough? are we satisfied yet? all of your voices are like
silhouettes. they’re never coming we.
back never wanted to be so cynical or fatalist. but day to day through ringing
ears and gasoline, bags of pills and buckets of ice,
did we get enough? are we satisfied yet?
all of your voices are like silhouettes.
they’re never coming back.