Finch

Alone at last, together in a photograph
Our eyes are always open,
devoted to perfection through silence
What am I supposed to do?
Should I sit, wait for you?
Listen to me screaming more
This story is old,
only to those that have no mold
The truth can be bought or sold,
but what are we buying?
Nothing but silence
What am I supposed to do?
Should I sit, wait for you?
Listen to me screaming more
Tell me now just what am I supposed to do?