A Clown and His Pipe

There's better ways for us to waste our days
 Than returning stares that we borrowed for too long
 For too long, swallowed up by an empty page
 What starvation feeds you, devourer
 Of the words of a thousand authors and poets, alike?
 Wells have emptied to whet your thirst
 So I'll shake out to the last, a drop of fluency
 To carve ink into these precious words
 To dedicate a thought in desperation
 We could light a fire and forge a silver tongue
 Drawn beneath our blunt remarks
 Fashioned from all of our meaningless change
 What would it take, what would it prove, to wrench them from my heels, to shed them from my heart?
 Swallowing swords, sharpened by turning cheeks between blows
 I feel this is better left a performers art
 It's a narrow throat that keeps a razor's edge from the heart
 I'd rather not speak in tongues
 But I'll take every breath
 I'll make every breath a piper, charming flames
 Singing and dancing, out from their smouldering bed
 We could light a fire and forge a silver tongue
 Drawn beneath our blunt remarks
 Fashioned from all of our meaningless change
 What would it take, what would it prove, to wrench them from my heels, to shed them from my heart?
 Swallow the pen, devour the sword
 Inhale the proverbs whole
 Spinning on static, gouged before the peak
 In this chaos of frequencies it's so hard to speak
 This noise is nameless
 Stumbling like a beggar
 Desperate for some kind of change
 We could light a fire and forge a silver tongue
 Drawn beneath our blunt remarks
 Fashioned from all of our meaningless change
 What would it take, what would it prove, to wrench them from my heels, to shed them from my heart?