My Chest Is A Cage

my chest is a cage and it holds a ticking clock
it rises and falls and its as cold as a rock
and at the height of the hour, it lessens and cowers
till the morn comes creeping and quiet.

my chest is a cage with many bars to guard
a soul in the ocean all burning and charred
and the deeper he goes, the flames further grow
till he just has no place to run.

my chest is a cage and it’s a gaol of late
it locks in the bad and it keeps out the great
but it knows what it wants and it knows what it needs
and it rises o’er the forest in the evening.

when the purple sky is lined by a golden feathered wing
and the people are waking and the birds start to sing
the music dies down and the world’s laced in sin
my chest is a cage and it’s about to cave in.

My Chest Is A Cage

Sean Watson

Joined September 2008

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  • A boy called Star
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