When you and I first met they had me on bed rest...
I remember the room being cold with nothing to...

He is running through the house
scratching on the couch...

With his skin so soft
his rosy lips...

Life is a masterpiece of repeating history
power, money and greed...

Being the rebel I once was
my desire to fly across that water...

I have been lying to myself
worry, about everything else...

When home is calling my name
my heart is aching for this old place...

When that little wheel in my head is going
all pens are dried out, no paper in sight...

I am a child of darkness
pain resides within...

That moment when I heard the door closing behind
with all my memories inside...

Crumpled paper showing grease spots at the corners
scrolling through endless pages hoping to find...

With every thought my pen is pressing harder on...
the cramping in my hand is getting stronger...