…the weather in my chest
…a silent waiting ache

I drank the dark like water
I wore the cold as skin
Saw an angel in the rubble
With a safety pin grin

She promised me a kingdom
From the splinters and the nails
I built a house of wanting
On a foundation that fails

Oh the lie was so pretty
A perfect gilded shame
A scripture made of gossip
She whispered my own name

And I am a hobo heart
A fire in the freeze
And I am a torn apart
Map of my disease

From the ashes of the saint
I lick my bitter gold
A phoenix in the noise
A story frozen sold

You were the flood in the basement
The rot inside the rose
The debt I couldn’t cancel
The chill that never goes

You took my love’s blueprints
And you burned them for the heat
Left me with the phantom
Of my own heartbeat

Your victory was a poison
In a sweet communion glass
A calculated mercy
As you watched the minutes pass

And I am a hobo heart
A scar that won’t conceal
And I am a torn apart
Wound that refuses to heal

From the ashes of the saint
I claw my bitter gold
A phoenix in the noise
A story shattered told

The storm wasn’t weather
The prison wasn’t steel
The only way out
Is through the wound that’s real

No train no track
Just the hum in the black
A hobo heart
Learning its own sound
In the quiet
In the quiet
After the