There’s this feeling after the great collapse
you strain to figure it out
who’s to blame and what’s at fault
question all the things you done
question all the things you didn’t do
well what-if’s never made it so
I told-you-so’s never solved a thing
so we spiral on; confused
and some days my doubts come spilling out
As if who I was and who am I now
the heights I achieved, are they still there
well without anything tying them down
I will just float
do I just follow them down the patchwork
where do I place myself now
the fallowed garden
My endless travels
I can’t escape that same sense
of standing in ticket claim,
all alone at six am hoping to return somewhere safe
with all that was met, with all that lack of permanence
is it the cardboard boxes
stacked high of life, that are breaking me down?
Well 12 boxes and a lack of direction
I was not born to drown, but I make a great case
If I flood, if I burn and if I collapse
Oh the dying day will fight hard to claim me
the handbook of my embarrassment of living
pages paving my way toward
All my enterprising calluses of cashing checks
mortgaged and credited
the somnolence of entrapment
what’s holding all my atmosphere
if I just let it all go
free myself of everything that didn’t save me
can I live like that?
So now the stars are so vivid above my head
pulling me closer to their distance
we’ll what’s saving me from lifting off
well the sway of a dress
to the distress we’re sending out
a sigh over here
is a ripple of the shooting star
I took all my savings out
where are we now?
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