There’s solidity in a common ground,
the head’s been shaken from the crown,
the last piece of silver has been bitterly sold,
along with the heirlooms and pieces of gold,
it’s a long way back up onto your feet, you know?
it’s a painful process that comes pitifully slow,
it’s a nameless and faceless weight on your heart,
drawing you to the weightlessness of the dark,
what is everything, when you’ve got nothing to lose?
like shoveling when it’s still snowing on you,
like budging when you didn’t want to move,
and judging the truth based on what is true.