Ash Wind

So burned out, just a shell of smoke and hell.

So tired... like a pound of iron cold on each breath.

I really need a change, I really need to stop settling for the ash on the wind.

Settling for smoke and mirrors, scared of dreams and fears.

Self destructive cures, when theres nothing but the button.

Reset the great machine, the slaver, the cruel and mean.

Days of daze and daze of days.

Through it out the ashen wind.

Drive out colors, smear your dirt.

Cover light, fill heart with hurt.

If I just hid my face away, stayed secluded, will decay.

Would it notice, that great machine, would my mind finally wash clean?