No Amount of Sound Into It. Over It.

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Footsteps
They followed mother's death
They followed suit and peeled the paint off the walls
Behind a metal desk
Inside a modern mausoleum
You have found your calling, calling for fall
No amount of sound could make us fade the way you're fading now

Lost weight
Current emotional states left folding gold under a florescent light
It’s a touch agoraphobic
I suggested catatonic, hypochondriac's suggestions
Wait
I held your hand
I drew a line in the sand
I couldn’t bear to think you're losing your mind
But when the red flags bolted up is when your outlook started shifting
Just a shift requires valued time

You need to write this down

No amount of sound could make us fade the way you're fading now
When will you fade out?

Footsteps
They followed mother's death
They followed suit and peeled the paint off the walls