i sense that i might have been there but the memory plays like a movie nostalgia’s not really a thing that I feel but i cherish that I can remember the tick of the clock the cuckoo gone mad the hammering sound of iron on wood, the spirit stirs but I can’t find myself within his good works the me who’s not me though i’m trying to see a future where there’s still a place for me a memory of nobody at least not one I wanna be are we always going to be alone in this revelry? circling inside ’til there’s a groove running full speed yet cannot move this feels like a damn sick joke i wanna press forward but the wheel is broke throw my hands to the sky let my fate be decided by the speed, by the wind by the grain, by the grit the me who’s most me, is attempting to flee the end of the day sunsets lonely from the crack of the dawn staring blankly all i wanted was to be safe in your arms but now it’s all gone wrong… everywhere there’s reminders that I was here in the cracks in the floor in the contours of the sagging mattress foam Something here that I can’t explain You’ve seen my eyes, you know my name you’ve worn my ache in the lines of your face when will you admit that we’re one and the same? the me who’s not me though i’m trying to see a future where there’s still a place for me a memory of somebody the person I was meant to be are we never going to be at home in this revelry?
0/500