Of Bridges and Embers

I represent a darker dream.
It seems a little strange.
There's something seeping out my seams,
but that has never changed.

Whoever finds this, mark my words,
there was nothing I could do.
I waited for fullness, and got two-thirds,
and nothing would ring true.

Expectations are needs that are rarely met.
Parts of me recall what the centre forgets.

Chorus:
My edges remember painting me blood-red,
so you could find me, to restore me.
Bridges and embers, falling behind me,
and before me.  (Like so much rain...)
Am I the fool?  Am I the liar?
Am I the fuel?  Am I the fire?
My edges remember bridges and embers,
and I might be insane...

I disavow this “brighter” place.
It only seems so right.
There's something blinding in my face,
but maybe it's your light.

And when I couldn't see ahead, I looked behind,
and saw what I had been.
Wrapped in my head, and in my mind,
the ending can begin.

So exposed, and chemically afraid...
Eyes adjust to the shadow of a shade...

My edges remember...