Now where was I…
Now where was I…
She said she had nothing to say
and the hard part was
that I kind of believed her.
She had it sometimes, this spark
but never really fleshed it out.
And even when she did
she always just kind of played the part
but never really got it how I saw it in her.
I think I just wanted her to be this muse
which she understood she couldn’t be.
Not because she didn’t want to but rather
because she’d already given so much of herself
that there really wasn’t more to give.
And what’s the point of giving your all
to something that never really gave you anything
but headaches and a broken heart?
Oh how we live for those who treat us like dirt
because in the end we respect them better than
the rest who smile and nod and tell us how
good of a job we’re doing just to get through the day.
But they don’t really care. To them
we might as well not even exist. I mean really
who do you call when you’re at rock bottom?
You call the ones you’ve loved, lost, and
will love regardless of the pain they’ve caused
because even when she said she had nothing
to say, I knew better than that.
I just pray she wasn’t telling the truth.
Hell even when I have nothing to say
I have something to say. But that’s me.
That wasn’t and will never be her.
“So don’t think twice it’s alright.”
Bob Dylan said that.
“I’ll let you be in my dream if I can be in yours.”
Bob Dylan also said that.
“Write with fire,” I said that.
I’m probably taking this harder than I should
but that’s who I am and what I do.
I know this. I admit it. I am this.
There is no turning it off, no turning back.
I’ll wake up tomorrow pen in hand regardless.
Don’t it feel good? That spark. Like fire, right?
You just can’t put it down no matter how hard you try.
See, you don’t choose it, it chooses you.
And if you don’t say it, someone will.
It’s all just wishful thinking in the end
so here’s another penny to the well
funny how it doesn’t even make a splash anymore.
is ever fully Dead
until it is
But even then
we play with it
we spoil it
we serve it
We give it enough strength
so that it can live again
Even when it kills us
Dead is never Dead
All is quiet yet again
and I know what I must do
as if tasting coffee
for the first time
I drink slowly, carefully
while sunlight enters the room
and from my window I can see
I am nothing
I am nothing more than
what I choose to be
and what I’ve chosen
Don’t you dare close your eyes
like there’s nothing to see
or tell me there’s no reason to be
foolish and fragile and fearful of love
for love is the Ark which braved the flood
Hell I don’t know uh single Saint
but I see Angels every day
they’re all around us can’t you see
in him in her in you and me.
At the end of the day
when my feet are sore
when my mind is heavy
and I can’t take anymore.
Playing with matches I paint.
I paint such beautiful pictures
in my heart that burns
which no one can see
because I’m no painter
I’m just a bad artist
Man will never miss a chance
to kill another man
even in times of peace and relative
prosperity man will always find a way.
It’s a tired tale but we read it everyday.
Man oh man can’t we find another way?