Produced by: Erik Simard                                                             Arrangements: Simard - Lord                                       Released: February 2020                                             Performers:                                                                               Pat Lord - Vocals                                                                           Erik Simard - Guitars and keys                                                     Sandy Tarczali - Bass                                                                     Tim Miller - Drums

PAIN

Simard - Lord

There is a hole in my chest – A part of myself recessed                                      There is a whole that divest – A part of myself oppressed 

I can't see any recovery, whatever you try to say to me                                      I can't see beyond the pain I feel: Anything I try is agony                                  I can't think anymore than I see, all my senses gone away from me                  Only thing that I can guarantee: I can't see any recovery 

There's some leaks in my eyes and my nose coincide                                        From the pain, I surmise; 'Wish the grief would subside 

I can't touch this, here, reality; as of now: impossibility                                     I can't see beyond calamity; I can't hear what you can say to me                    I can't smell since I can hardly breathe; I can't taste any normality                  I can't touch this, here, reality... 

All – I – Want – Is – For – The - Pain – To – Leave – Me – Be – And – Go – A – way                                                                                                                            I – Don't – Want – To – Die – But – I – Can't – Stand – To – Feel – This – Way – All – Day                                                                                                                    I – Know – You – Mean – Well – But – Why – Can't – You – Tell – I – Just – Can't – Take – It 

Give 'em time – Let them whine – Don't malign – Be benign 

All that I knew that made sense has gone away in dispense                              With no defense from offense, thence confusion commence 

I so hope that I will feel better, once released from that ball and fetter           Letting me recover from the pressure of that ache that kept me in the nether                                                                                                              Standing to undertake this endeavor, from the edge to overtake the centre  I don't want to let this wound fester so won't you help me to feel better 

I am not ready to die so do not start to recite the forewords to my last rites