bullets in my coffin

the answer ran, packed it's bag and let go of your hand. the answer ran along because he knew he was right and didn't need any help, no need to try and understand something that cannot be validated with such words. an intensity that caught flame and was discharged in such a hurried frenzy that would a change of tone would made it any less the same. and you wanted it to be said just in perfect coronation so it would end up presenting itself beautifully but like nails to the coffin, what has become of me and i'm a whole other job of discombobulated sorts and im trying to make everything just work out. throwing away the clocks and taking off my shoes, no need to run no need to trail into a mess of presumed judgment of invisible feelings; you cannot see these, you cannot taste them - you must believe me when i say, and that which i say.. is like bullets in my coffin.