Feel This Falling

Hands in his pockets
Makes his way down Hancock street
The cars race past
The shifting shadows shooting fast past his shuffling feet
Feels more alone than he has in a while tonight
But he still goes back to that place where it’s not right

So much left to say
It’s all been said before
Too many empty words
And still he could do much more
He’s heard it all and still felt so alone
But walls don’t fall down on their own

In a quiet affair with tragedy
But sometimes you can see the scars
When he smiles there’s a weight there
He likes the feel of your hand by his heart
But even with your body so close to his
There’s a distance, a disconnect, and so much amiss

It’s not about the feelings
And it’s not about the truth
If facts could make us human
Then books would live lives for you
And they’d do better than he is, by the way it looks
‘Cause only monsters burn books