Nothing Comes To Mind [Pre-Version]

[Intro] I sit here, dumb as chalk on wet stone, trying to remember something that once felt like home. But… nothing. Just a blank hallway in my head. [Verse 1] I reach for a name and grab air. Like trying to catch dust on a moving stair. There was a song — I swear there was — some guy with a cheap guitar, singing off-key just because. The tune kinda circles, then drops dead. Like it forgot it ever lived inside my head. I dig around, knock on doors that don’t exist, and all I get is that stupid buzzing mist. [Chorus] Nothing comes to mind — not a face, not a line. I drag my nails through hours, but they give no sign. The voices? Gone. Like they packed and left. I stand in this quiet, awkward and bereft. Nothing comes to mind, and the harder I try, the more my own brain tells me “don’t even ask why.” [Verse 2] Yo, sometimes it hits like a lightbulb flick… then dies. A spark, a corner, a laugh — then it flies. Schoolyard, late nights, back seats, cheap beer — I should remember, right? I was there. But the reel skips. Film’s scratched. Whole damn timeline mismatched. I reach deeper, the well coughs sand. Can’t grab a thing with an empty hand. [Hook] NOTHING. Yeah — NOTHING. NOTHING COMES TO MIND. (If it’s hiding, it’s hiding good.) [Verse 3] Names slip. Years blur. Feels like someone shook the snow globe too hard. I try to hold still, let the flakes settle, but the picture never clears; the glass stays brittle. I want one detail — a jacket, a street, a reason — but it dodges me like it’s got its own season. [Bridge] I sit by the river — real one, cold as hell — and think water might trigger something. Nope. Oh well. I dig in my past like pockets with holes, everything falls through, nothing consoles. It’s weird, you know? Trying to remember your own life and coming back with lint. [Verse 4] Back at the river, I try again, slower this time. Follow the current, pretend it’s a rhyme. But the moments slip like loose thread from a sleeve, and I can’t sew a thing if the memory won’t weave. Bars, fights, highways, barns — all jumbled noise. I don’t know if they’re mine or borrowed from other boys. The silence sits heavy, loud as a slammed door, and I’m stuck on the wrong side, asking for something I’m not getting back. [Chorus] Nothing comes to mind — yeah, same old grind. I dig and dig, but the box stays blind. Faces smear, and the rest decline. I call out to the dark, but it never replies. Nothing comes to mind — not even a sign. Guess some stories die without a headline. [Outro] I tried. I really did. But… nothing comes to mind.