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Quiet It's 4 AM I was Sound asleep Trying To hunt the sheep There is a choice Within a voice Lurking somewhere between Hidden parts And facial scars And remnants of the deepest needs I am convinced In sleeplessness That we need some source of rest Following With frequency Won't become a place to lay our heads I've searched And tried And tumbled in the midst I've swallowed pride And nullified What's left of innocence Reparations Won't be made We'll set a precedent Never to late To recreate So here's your evidence Am I getting through? Is this loud enough? Any means By all extremes This feeling follows action You can take My worst mistakes And use them for excuses Or you can try To realize This vessel's by itself is worthless The hand, the furnace, the straight face