There are footsteps in the alleyway behind our home
Can't help but wonder if they might just be my own
From moments ago
Still wandering in that sense of stale disillusion
Surrounding yourself with another excuse
From your seclusion
So characteristic of some wounded creature
With fog of winter on its breath
All you've ever known
Is the subtle repetition of your own abandonment
Your imagination knew no bounds
You lived in sound and subtle vibrations
I kept my place in the back of your mind
And I feigned recognition
Screaming through silence
For another handful of flesh
If only to feel its warmth
I am a thousand shallow graves
Marked with one pale rose
Proof that you and I once existed
I am the smile lines on your weathered face
I left no other trace of my existence
So characteristic of some wounded creature
With fog of winter on its breath
All you've ever known
Is the subtle repetition of your own abandonment
Your imagination knew no bounds
You lived in sound and subtle vibrations
I kept my place in the back of your mind
And I feigned recognition
Wanderer are you wary still
Are you willing to repent?
Following in the dead of night with naught
But the guidance of my scent
Wanderer are you wary still
Are you blinded by your regret?
Your imagination knew no bounds
You lived in sound and subtle vibrations
I kept my place in the back of your mind
And I feigned recognition
What will become of the man
That I've built with these hands?
What will become of me?