Fire. Water. Stars.

It was eight years ago on this day that my father took his life.

He said, “what’s the point of living if you’re just gonna die?”

His advice was cruel, but his words were soft and they made perfect sense.

Still I wander these streets and haven’t found the truth yet.

I said, “You’ve spent years staring at a mountain of gold through this broken window,

And your imprisonment isn’t anybody’s fault but your own.”

Carry me with you

wherever you go.

Dangle me from

your fingertips.

I went around the

world and back,

along the lines

around your lips.

Fire, that fire in your eyes,

The flames that flickered and

ruined all of our lives.

And I was water, water through

your hands.

Just pin me up there with the stars, maybe then I can stand alone.

His stories spilled with the whiskey straight from his golden cup,

“I’m here now and I’m still alive and I’m not giving up.”

The strings kept my eyes closed were the strings around your waist,

I could’ve lived for days and days in the hollows of your face.

Gravity will never be enough, and heaven is too far gone.

This town was never big enough, so we punish it with our songs.

So we punish him without songs.

Fire, it was the fire in your eyes,

The flames that flickered and

ruined all of our lives.

And I was water, water through your hands.

Just pin me up there with the stars, maybe then I can stand alone.

Carry me with you wherever you go.

Dangle me from your fingertips.

I went around the world and back,

along the lines around your lips.