The connection was clear,
once and I could hear that
voice as if it was ringing
inside my ears.

It was sweet, tender
and sometimes even
a bit gruff but I loved it
regardless.

Days passed and that
voice followed me with
every step I took, and
I knew everything would
be just fine just as long
as its raspiness was
forever embedded inside
these fissures.

It was more than a lifeline,
it was my life and I let it
govern everything I ever did
for if it ever died..then I'd be lost.

Eventually, I grew up
and learned to keep that
voice just a sublte whisper
comforting me every day
the sun came up.

And after the years went by,
it became nothing but an
incessant little thrum.
I was free! I had what
they called freewill.

But then, things went
blurry and I couldn't hear
anything anymore. I didn't
know where up and down was.

That was when I knew I let
a tiny relevant part of me
die away, and I knew that
I would never be the same
again.

But I'm tired of hearing
these words being
reciprocated from
dead phonecalls.

'cause all that's left
is the

dial tone
dial tone
dial tone.

The dial tone is numbing
and it's all I got left to
grasp onto.

It haunts me, and
I let it because if
the tones ever changes

then there'll be nothing
more left.