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Hangman's Chair
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December
Sitting on my chair,
I watch the world
and try
to find another one like you,
waiting between a million puppets
full of emptiness and doubt.
Mother of grace,
the mask on my face
is made of dirt, falling on my chest.
I'm trying to remember
the colors of December
but the sail on my mind is as black as the coal.
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The raindrops streaming down the window are shining like diamonds and gold.
A melancholic melody
is playing inside my head all along.
Mother of grace,
I mark on my flesh,
words of sorrow never been told.
I'm trying to remember
the colors of December
but the sail on my mind is as black as the coal.
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