She walks,
down a bro-ken road,
won-der-ing if she'll ever see
home a-gain.
Day by
day she goes,
wan-der-ing through the
clouds a-gain.
His life,
is a guitar and a smoke;
won-der-ing if he'll ever see
the sun a-gain.
Day by,
day he goes,
wan-der-ing through his
dreams again.
Some-where,
on the bro-ken path
of life,
they met along the way.
Some-how,
in this bro-ken after-math
of life,
they helped each other
fly away.
Then...
She smiles,
when he comes through the door,
won-der-ing how lucky
a girl could be.
Day by,
day she goes,
over those dark old clouds
she soars.
He smiles,
when this beautiful angel,
hold
What is this,
and who am I?
Please don't,
O please don't,
please don't lie!
No, don't you lie,
when I ask,
why,
and how, and what,
has become of me?
What-ev-er happened to
the boy
with the
gol-den dreams?
Where
is
he?
All I see,
is color's run from me;
All through the day and night,
asking what is wrong or right.
Why don't I care,
if I'm never there?
Can I be saved,
when I am just empty air?
Hot and cold,
am I growing bold,
by asking, is there any-thing
that I can grab ahold,
of?
It all seems the same,
each and every day;
is this all life has left to offer me,
am I stuck this way?
Am I...
Empty?
Hollow in
BLIND?
In the height of my anticipation,
I reach the antitheisis of climax
through my hesitation,
and my painful realization
comes with each heart paulpatation.
It's a lack of exhileration
I find deep in my meditation,
like I've been infected
with a soul sickness called starvation.
My quiet time medication
is that I'm STILL here, SILL alive,
DESPITE my damnation;
doomed to live with
heart and mind segregation.
I don't lie, but I'm a master
of subtle truth inflation,
unforgiven through the memories
of my misinformation and indirect creation
of a creature lacking any true destination.
Yet oblivious to the obvious,
I cling t
