When It's Too Late for PF Flyers

Forgive Durden

My knuckles are blistered and scarred from beating myself up over this.
Outlined in black, backing me down, with stares to kill, she scans the room.
Brought together by the same thing that's tearing us apart.
The sun's your smile (I'm burning alive).
The moon's your eyes (They're shutting me out).
The rain's your kiss (I'm up to my chin).
You're my world.
I'll reach for that (I can't help this).
Which is just out of reach (It was meant to be).
Take the longest way (The end of me).
Go against the grain.
Regardless how I alter my gait, The finish line is forever one stride away.
But now my walk won't waiver.
My steps are constant in rhythm and time.
You never hesitate to tear muscle straight from bone.
You knew the story before you turned the page.
I knew the words before they left your lips, fired passed your teeth through silence from point blank range.
Should this be salvation?
You take care of verbs and I'll worry about adjectives.
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