March 3 – Lost Inside the Wilted Brick

One turn down the old round house
She shouts inside
We are immortal          we are immortal

If only we knew how to live

Dust flies out to cover eyes
Blinking turns them into rain

She’s burning with a false sense of hope
I know your name       I know your name

If only you could say it without breaking

Twisted rope lies falling up
Boats wave on rocks, clear glass skies

She can hear the ocean in the palm of her hand
I could be free             I could be free

Just maybe, with the right momentum

We weren’t all of us awful before the moon lit up
When the house grew wild
And the mushrooms dripped with dew and mould
We weren’t all of us bad before the sky grew dark
When the lights went out
And the gentle whir of electric rhythm vanished
We weren’t all of us destined for nothing

One turn round the old barn door
She shouts so quiet
We are immortal         we are immortal

If only we weren’t dying to live

– Tegan Thuss

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December 7 – Derailed Promise

She looks at her watch, and looks on to the light
He’s not coming, he’s not coming tonight

Tears fill her eyes and she tries not to cry
She should know with him it’s always a lie
But the hope was real and it burned inside
It’s left her scarred and her heart open wide

She clenches her fist around the promise he made
Only promises seem like dreams, destined to fade
She’s got a long way to go, he’ll be part of the past
Yet the feelings she had for him will probably last

Her suitcase is packed, with memories and more
The train keeps whistling, she’s right at the door
She turns one last time with faith in her eyes
Emptiness greets and she cringes cause she tries

She sits by the window, with a view of the fog
The silence is broken by the wail of a dog
Her heart meets its sorrow, greets the sadness
She wonders if all this could truly be madness

The train blares a warning, the wheels drifting on
This is the moment when she will be gone
And she’s all alone really, she always has been
Even if for a minute she thought she was seen

She looks at her watch, and looks on to the light
He’s not coming, he’s not coming tonight

– Tegan Thuss

August 20 – Swan Dive on a New York Boulevard

He’s sitting looking down into the broken smile of the future.
He’s got a bruise on his face and a rot in his soul.
The city keeps yelling, but what he wants is silence.
Just a little peace, a little peace.

Chorus:
There’s no perfect ending when it comes to this place.
You’ve gotta’ be strong, you’ve gotta’ keep face.
There’s no picket fences, there’s no shining sun,
Just the dying in the gutter, or a loaded gun.

His eyes are on fire as he watches the sun set,
Watches the only light that’s ever shown itself here.
He sees the city bleeding, arms spreading apart,
Hoping to push the poison out, it’s too late.

He glances down to the sea of black, it looks so inviting.
He knows it, that water, where whores keep afloat.
Where money is exchanged like air, and cops carry the oxygen.
He’s almost out of breath, but better to gasp than to choke.

Chorus:
There’s no perfect ending when it comes to this place.
You’ve gotta’ be strong, you’ve gotta’ keep face.
There no picket fences, there’s no shining sun,
Just dying in the gutter, or a loaded gun.

He’s sick from the stink here, smells of slow death.
He’s hurting inside here, desperately searching for something to regret,
But all he’s got are bad memories and hollowed out dreams.
A tear streaks his face, grabs the wind and is gone.

He stands up, lifts his arms as though they were wings,
But angels and heaven never set foot in this hell.
He whispers goodbye to a town that never cared, takes a step.
He smiles, this is the one thing he’s ever done for himself.

Chorus:
There’s no perfect ending when it comes to this place.
You’ve gotta’ be strong, you’ve gotta’ keep face.
There’s no picket fences, there’s no shining sun,
Just the dying in the gutter, or a loaded gun.

There’s blood on the ground of the decaying city,
It’s mixing with the rest, turning with the tide, flowing with the river.
A body lies in an alley, arms expanded from hugging death.
Movement of life keeps going, sad boy already forgotten.

– Tegan Thuss

P.S. Did this for a story I might one day write.