alma cook

Yours is a poetry 
Of many words unsaid, 
And I'm afraid that if I let this pain have free reign 
I might be in over my head. 

Sometimes I sit, let you kiss on my temples 
And whisper so gentle and ease my mind, 
Taking the risk that my heart wants Your Promise 
For some kind of solace it needs to find. 

CHORUS: 
I'm worn and beat down— 
Won't You help me tackle the tears 
And tell me something that I want to hear? 
Something that can conquer the fear, 
'Cause I'm feeling torn & weak now— 
The odds are too good to ignore 
But bad enough to leave me crying on the floor. 
I can't help but think we've been through all this before. 

I know I don't read as much as I should; 
It's been a while. But I remember something 
About how the wise are only wise in their own eyes, 
How we'd better start thinking like a child. 

I heard what You said, so no one's catching me sleeping 
Or casually steeping in apathy; 
But turning my head, I see credible people 
All begging it's evil & fantasy. 

CHORUS