I feel those familiar whispers,
they pull upon these old heart strings,
and piece by piece,
they pull apart my armor by the seams.

My heart is unguarded, the
blood flowing like Moses through the reeds.
This is not what I dreamt of,
Hope is not what i need.

There are inside these winds,
words not meant for me.
Upon this cold morning rise,
I leave for a life of quiet being.

And what that dagger must have felt like,
clothed in the heart of a broken dream.
we thought ourselves sheltered from the storms of our youth,
but still we become these broken things.