My eyes would discard those things that would
threaten to force my heart torn between that
which is warm and that which is now forlorn.
This house is no home;
it’s a place to press, press it out until it’s gone.
It’s all gone from here now.
Speak no feeling, no, I don’t believe you.
My eyes discard the happenings.
(click on the image for “River.mp3″)
