So the reason i came out here
the reason i am here
the reason i'm sitting cold in a stairwell like i've got no home
the reason for drinking cold water when i could have warm
why i sit staring at a light...life like a candle
like a moth like an insignificant creature seeking some worth...or is it warmth?
my hands are blue and not from the chill
it's from bad circulation, strangulation, thrill
the stairway is empty and i hear voices all around
although quiet as a mouse i don't make a sound
no sound...no sound except the screams in my head yelling
Wake Up! and Look Out!
and i look but there is no one around
not a sinner saint or lover to see..
all i see is me.
my faults, my flaws, my distant reverie
the water in my cup quivers while i don't even shiver
is it warning me?
is there something i can be i can do i can hear that will remove MY fears
and MY insecurities and MY....dreams?
dreams are just a whisper of what i can't be
along with the lil girls that eye me like i am not here and i am not here...
i do not exist except to those who care
and do they care do they see....
why i am here why i can't be me?
the reason is clear.
My story is my story and mine alone to hear, what you think is your answer does not help me hear what i am trying to say because i know my own words and i know my own way. i have crossed this forest before but that doesn't mean i know it any more but it is my path and my boots that i muddy and your footsteps were in such a hurry and i am not ready. i am not ready to listen to your been there's and done that's because i have my own facts about your whereabouts. your path is not my path and if yours was a meadow how can that help me follow....my path through the jungle.