my fingers are dripping with masterpieces yet to be written
where reality ends and my imagination begins, somewhere beyond the neverland
dreams only to be grasped by invisible fingers, truth penetrating my sleepless night
waking up short of air only to wish the air would prove itself to be a nightmare
in a shack on the side of the road between yesterday and today
i rested in the contentment of knowing what the future might hold
yet wishing i could comprehend how much this path would wind and twirl 'round my fingers
the wind came and blew away my sentiments briskly and i'm left with the figurative clothes on my back
symphonies yet to be sung, falling off my lips
oh my dear, what a well composed appearance of a song!
desires once exposed by desperation, now enmasked by a facade
perhaps one day my heart will be safe enough to again bask in the sun.
desires to show myself worthy come kicking to the surface
what would it feel like to be immortalized in stone, like a god? (am i allowed to think that?)
once in a while it seems acceptable to wonder and wander and ask myself if i could be this infamous
greed and lust for fame overtake me and i am quickly disinterested
it took thousands of miles,
four cities,
and hours of sentiments
in a foreign land
to truly get me home.
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