The tap of keys is the music I leave,
pushing forward, do you want to know what I feel?
Want to hear about the deal I made?
So that the smooth taps don’t hurt me,
only the words that bleed through
the torn skin of my finger tips. 

There it is, the hatred,
for the ones we love the most.
Can you hear the thunder,
pounding the last chords
of life that were pulled from me
unwilling, unknowing,
for the deal you made in the mirror
you can no longer gaze upon.

If I could just go back,
make the deal with the gods once offered,
so you can feel what I feel.
So you can see what doesn’t matter anymore,
matters more than we can bear.

The strain doesn’t hurt anymore,
the melody making the task easy.
As it slows, the chords, the tune,
the tap.
Why is there so much hate?
For the ones we love the most?
For you and me,

I’ve torn it all apart, torn what you know
that was the deal.
Tapping forever, the beat no longer
pushing blood through my veins,
but the words torn so asunder,
that they have lost their meaning.

If only I could,
not change the stage
but change the act,
so you can see how deep the violation lies.
But it doesn’t matter
how many times I’ve died.

I’m sitting here,
tapping and bleeding
running and standing
chasing and screaming
being and nothing
all at once, never the same
but twice as it can be.
For the hill is always there
waiting for me.
It was the deal I made
to save me from you.