Blind
Life drags its face through your water
You turn the red lights on
You hide your eyes from the alter
And spit on me
It’s okay that you don’t know
And spill your glass of wine
You’re as shallow as a whisper
Your diamond eyes don’t shine
Escape your soul from its memory
Talk to strangers in rhymes
Exit slowly and bow your head
It’s getting later this time
You check again with the watchman
You think she still might come
Acting so dumb in your reasons
You think she still might come
Where are your senses? Where are your senses?
She lied, open your eyes
Where are your senses? Where are your senses?
You think she still might come
Ego is shattered to pieces
You scatter it all to the wind
And your blind, don’t say nothing
And your blind and your blind
And your blind
© 3/30/1997, William Grant Preston
