Freedom is an illusion and slavery is a perception,
Death is inevitable but Life is an option.

A forgotten tale, ensconced in stone,
A murmered doubt, said all alone,
I preen my ears, for these little secrets,
Smothered in their prime, yet blazing with heat,
I long to know them, those long lost legends,
The forbidden stories, with unfinished ends,
For I seek the weapon, to make all enemies cower,
Hidden atop that chest, perched in the highest tower,
And so I search, through the witches hour,
I search and find secrets, the only true power.

She crept in through my window sill,
As fair as autumn moonlight, and as sleek as silver silk,
Her eyes they shone like summer rain,
And void they did, of all my pain,
The ruby of her lips, rivaled the roses of the morn,
And the beauty of her face, rivaled the coming of the dawn,
She crept in through my window sill, nothing she did take,
She crept in through my window sill, and my heart she did break.

Don't play with broken toys, Mama used to say,
They're twisted and rotten, leave them be,
They'll rob your soul blind, and leave you that way,
Till your world no longer exists, just you wait and see,
Their wind-ups are broken, and their springs are twisted,
They'll bleed you dry, and leave your heart blistered,
But your porcelain flesh was unblemished,
And your springs worked just fine,
So I played with a broken toy, and when I was finished,
You bled me dry, and my world was no longer mine,
I fell for a broken girl, and now my heart is coal,
I fell for a broken girl, who broke my soul.

I converse with the insane,
And I see dead people,
I seek no fame,
Or salvation from church steeples,
I am alone,
Yet in my head we are many,
A clamoring of voices,
Above the anarchy of it all,
This world is broken, a place where life is a gamble,
And familial bonds are broken down in shambles,
I am a grateful dead, of a time long forgotten,
And like that I shall remain, till my bones are long rotten.

Kiss Me,
Oh won't you kiss me one last time,
Before the night time fades away,
And all the stars, turn to grey,
Before the clock hand hits midnight,
Before the first rays of sunlight,
Wash away, the magic of moonlight,
So kiss me, before your pumpkin carriage turns to dust,
And buries our memories in golden rust.

Reality is treacherous.
Its conformity is maddening, and the rules insanely sane,
The walls of uniformity are clouded with illusions that seem delusional,
And freedom and constrictions seem one and the same,
I am a dreamer, yet I fancy myself a creator,
I build worlds from the shards of a life that lacks flavor,
I prefer the freedom of love, hope and death,
And I crave the obsession of life and birth,
I am a dreamer, and so a world of facts and truths I shun,
I am a dreamer, a dying race, under the setting sun.
But the optimism of a dreamer is maddening,
Filled with hopes and dreams that are inherently saddening,
I am a wordsmith, a romantic and some might say a visionary,
Creating universes and queens from the extraordinary,
I am a romantic, and I desire the audience of the stars,
I am a romantic, and carved on the walls of my heart are a million scars.
I am a wordsmith, building walls from worlds torn at the seams,
I am a dreamer, fleeing from the banality of life through my dreams.

I loved you when the summer began,
Their shimmering rains couldn't compare to your grace,
I loved you during the setting of the autumn sun,
When the winter moon held no candle to your face,
I loved you through the four seasons of winter,
And not even the cold could keep you at bay,
You watched me fall and saw my heart splinter,
You worked on me and put me back together,
And when the summer rolled by again,
You walked away, and left me insane.

Hastened glances, like frightened mice,
A kiss on the cheek, oh wouldn't that be nice?
I long for her touch, her sweet, sensitive touch,
A smile or maybe a "hey", or is that too much?
Chalk dust smothers the air, like a foreboding mist,
Echoing my thoughts, "does she even know I exist?",
I stare at her, and feel my heart turn to mush,
But deep down I know, this is just a classroom crush.

Before the midnight comes
I'll lie by your side
and look into your
deep blue eyes
stroking your
soft blonde hair.
You'll hold my
hands and whisper
to me, "I love you,"
and I'll press you
against me till I feel
your heart beating against
mine, and then I'll
whisper in you ear,
"Well don't."

Let's make music, I hear you say,
To flee from all the sorrows within the fray,
Let's make music, I hear you say,
So together you and I, we start to play,
We strum to the beat of the eagle's call,
We pound out the rhythm of the waterfalls,
We tap out the echo of the voice of May,
And together you and I, continue to play,
This isn't music, I hear in your voice,
I smile and knowing, that I have no choice,
Kiss you tender, underneath the moonlight,
And with this our souls, begin to sing
To the melody in the thrilling of our heartstrings.

He is a tinkerer.
Through his eyes he sees only cogs and turning gears,
His fingers, they feel only bolts and nuts and screws,
He's doesn't understand her, he doesn't get her tears,
To him her sentiments, they are nothing if not new,
So he tries to fix her. He pieces the broken shells of her heart together,
Together the shells weigh a pound, but individually they float like a feather,
He glues and welds her heart together with his mixtures of metals,
But he doesn't understand that these shells are like rose bud petals,
Delicately they flow, and the slightest touch makes them break,
But in time, they bloom prettier than a sunset on a shimmering lake,
No, he doesn't understand. So he welds and forges the pieces together,
He is a tinkerer.

These whitewashed walls scream out my discontent,
The faces of inmates line the corridors, impassive and unimpressed,
I bang on steel locker doors, but I hardly make a dent,
My words are not replied to, and my screams go answered,
It doesn't matter though, they are silent screams of aid,
They resound through these hallways like the echoes of a gale,
The cold of locker steel is an ever foreboding constant.
They line the hallways, like the vigilant sentinels of a jail,
And I can help but think, how familiar the two seem to be,
And how in one a perfect illusion is created, of being free,
These whitewashed walls are filled to the brim,
With students and inmates, angels and demons alike,
Teachers and wardens stalk these halls, hidden behind their hollow faces,
Bullies and inmates swarm these halls, hidden behind unfamiliar faces,
In these whitewashed walls, there are blackened souls and empty holes,
Holes where hearts used to be, and coal where souls used to be,
These whitewashed walls are alive, and they bear witness to it all,
And here these whitewashed walls remain, through our rise and our fall.

The eyes of God regard man, waiting, watching,
And the eyes of man search for God, praying,
Our souls are lost, they cry.
Torrents of lies pour from the mouths of children yet unborn,
And whips of racism render the skin of our souls blistered and torn,
This world is broken and lies in shambles, war drums litter the streets,
This world is rabid, and with it come the rabid men, dancing to the beat
Of mad men and demons. The paupers pawn the poor,
And the poor pawn the paupers.
In this world I danced for tepid water, and sang for stale bread,
I crawled through streets with cobblestones littered with lead,
I saw the dying children, their eyes pleading with a God, any God,
They begged for redemption, and they pleaded for rest,
In this world I saw the hearts of priests and nobles impaled on rods,
And I watched the virtuous have their robes stripped off their *******,
In this world of mine, men and demons are now one and the same,
And together they shall all rot and burn in unyielding flame,
Nothing remains constant, except the eyes of God, watching, waiting,
Nothing remains constant, except the hands of God, waiting, unmoving.

I have travelled long and far,
My feet are sore, and my bones weary,
My eyes may see, but I am blind,
My heart may beat, but my soul is dreary,
My back aches from the weight on my shoulders,
My gun isn't as light as it used to be,
My flag isn't as pure as it should be,
I am not as I should be.
I crawl through the darkness of midday,
Plagued by the voices and what they used to say:
Strong man, young man, be the soldier of fortune,
Strong man, young man, sing the songs of your nation's tune,
Strong man, young man, come back with stories to tell,
Strong man, young man, go my boy, and show them hell,
Strong man, young man, hold up your shoulders,
Strong man, young man, go now, and be a soldier.

I have lost my mind in the madness,
I have lost my heart in the sadness,
Ghosts and family haunt my every waking moment,
The pleasure of life is now no more than blood filled torment,
I have seen the face of the Devil in the bowels of hell,
I have kissed Death, and I have lived to tell,
So listen to my stories, oh yea plagued and unfulfilled,
Bath with me in the blood of the men I have killed,
Blow your trumpets and your drums to the music of war,
I held up my shoulders, and now they are no more,
But I survived.
So sing your songs and chant your praises, but I don't need them,
You sold my soul.
Mother, I'm coming home.

I'm cold, I'm scared, I long for sleep,
The night is dark, with terrors too deep,
I close my eyes, shut out every desire,
For now there's no savior, no recuing messiah,
I scream at my terrors, allay my fears,
Fight the rush, of these oncoming tears,
All around me now, I see the flames,
Bones and flesh, all one and the same,
Dogs of war, with fangs of pain,
Crowds of men, all gone insane,
I see the ravens, with ebony wings,
So I shut them out, and then I sing,
For I'm cold, I'm scared, I long for sleep,
To grant me refuge, in it's eternal keep.

Her eyes are blue, like the deep blue ocean,

    Her smile intoxicating, like Cupid's love potion,

    With hair as golden as Apollo's bow strings,

    And a laugh as enthralling, as the songs the Siren sings,

    Am I alone in this, am I insane?

    Is love this strong, so full of pain?

    Is it so blinding, with so many paths awinding,

    Endowed with captivity, and stone hard binding?

    Or maybe I'm just a fool, a fool for love,

    Trapped by the call, the song of the dove,

    But then she looks, and I lose all uncertainty,

    For this is my paradise, this is my eternity.

What is love, someone asked me once,
Love is not when she is perfection.
Love is when she's ordinary, flawed,
And you accept her, flaws and all,
Because they make the perfection
That is her.

The words I create, I rarely do comprehend,
The meanings behind them, the messages they do send,
I am not the poet or the god, I am just the messenger,
A marionette in the masterpiece theatre,
Am I the created or am I the creator?

Hush little baby, don't you cry,
Mama's gonna feed you some cyanide,
If that cyanide don't **** you,
Mama's gonna drown you in the tub,
If you don't go glub glub in the tub,
Mama's gonna stab you a thousand times,
Hush little baby, rest your head,
In a few seconds you'll be dead,
La la la la la la la la la,
La la la la la la la la la.

I keep dreaming of falling.
Sinking through clouds and bleeding skies,
The winds don't hold me and oxygen chokes me.
I wish you'd taught me how to fly.

Is a home still a home when your hat rack is gone?
Does the sun still rise without the dawn?
I'd paint the sunset, but I've lost my muse,
I'd claw at my heart, but you took that too.

I'd forget about you, but memories haunt me,
They creep into my bed, whispering softly,
Remember when we broke your mom's TV?
Or our anniversary, on April Seventeenth?

I'd pay for your piano lessons so you could sing to stars,
Okay so maybe not stars, but surely fast moving cars?
How about a trip to Eiffel Tower far off in Rome,
Fine, I guess we could always see that from home.

Your books don't make me smile, come back to bed,
You'll be just a minute, hold on, you said,
I held on to your silk quilt and fell asleep,
You said you'd follow me, before I was in too deep.

You should have told me you'd fall asleep differently,
That I would wake, and that you would stay,
I mean sure, I would have protested adamantly,
But then I'd have no choice but to let you stay.

I guess now we'll never get to see the Eiffel Tower,
It's fine anyway; I hear the air up there is sour.
And we'll never get to sing to fast moving cars,
It's okay; at least this way no potential scars.

I fixed your mom's broken TV screen,
And I got a new apartment down in Queens,
Your phone keeps on uninstalling,
And I keep dreaming of falling.

I saw the way you looked at me,
In your eyes there was no love, or none I could see,
I felt your warm hands slowly turn to cold,
As the memory of us withered and grew old,
I saw the light of your love flee your eyes,
And saw your passion slowly encrusted in ice,
I watched you leave, to never return,
As you watched my heart, slowly crash and burn.

Your eyes are stars, in the midnight sky,
Your hair like darkness, woven from the night,
I reach for you, like a moth reaches for light,
Yet you pull away, and now here I lie,
I dream of your lips, in the cold days that come,
My heart a growing and welling dam
Of pain and sorrow, unrelenting emotions,
That **** me inside, and strip me of all devotions,
For I want you, I love you, and I always will,
But now I guess, it's time to be real,
I might be eternally in love with you,
But I know deep down, you'll never love me too.

I lived in a Land of shifting Reality,
Where men Swore to themselves their unyielding Fealty,
There was Darkness, but it was of our own Making,
And the World was ripe with Plunder ready for the Taking,
We answered to No One, nor did they Us,
And there was no Order, nor was there Class,
All that mattered, was our Existence,
Logic was Anarchy, and Anarchy was Sense,
Space was an Ideology, and the Truth was a Choice,
It was in this Land, that I learnt to See,
What it really meant, to truly be Free.

I stand in a meadow, confused and lost,
Amidst a war won, before it's even been fought,
There are screams of agony, and flailing limbs,
Muscled warriors, and butchered wimps,
And then a river of red, not water nor blood,
Bearing men of scarlet, all seemingly mad,
There is a scream, then the world turns cold,
A revelation of the future passed on, but yet untold,
I stand in the middle of it all, invincible it seems,
A god yet a mortal, in the world of dreams.

That awkward boy in the corner.
He walks oblivious through the school halls,
His arms are crossed in front of him like a shield,
A shield to block out the pain hidden in these whitewashed walls,
His backpack is slung across his back, weighing him down,
Amongst other things.
If you look closely you can see the tears in his downcast eyes,
His shoulders aren't hunched from the weight of his books.
No, they're burdened by the fears he dons like a burial shroud,
So he stays away and keeps his head down, ignoring their looks,
Where others have friendships and love, this boy has spaces,
Screaming teachers and bullies clamor in his dreams, with hollow faces.
This world it holds nothing for him, but in his mind he is free,
In his mind he is not an outcast, in his mind, he is not me.
But he does not live in his mind. Reality has never been kind,
It deals out impossible hands and leaves the good ones for you to find,
But this boy, he finds none. So every night he writes under the stars,
For they are his only friends, the words and stars. They reach out to him through steel bars.
They comfort him. But each day the sun rises and they leave,
Just like everything else. The pain is a constant, but he feels it none,
His lips run red with his own blood, and his side it aches from kicks and blows,
The fear and pain, it consumes his body and craves him whole,
It threatens to engulf him, to damage and blacken his soul.
This boy he's covered in the darkness, smothered by it.
His world is cruel, filled with dreadful blackened souls,
And they march on his hopes and dreams, filling them with a million holes,
Escape is ephemeral, like everything, and everything crashes down eventually,
This world it holds nothing for him, so in his mind he makes his own,
In his mind he has friends, and in his mind, there is no pain at all,
The whitewashed walls are empty, and he has the stars and words for company,
In his mind there is no pain and he is free.
In his mind, he is no longer me.

I turn to my left, I turn to my right,
I have no ammo left, no more strength to fight,
I see their faces, unmasked pits of disgust,
How long till I die, how long will I last,
It's all a mistake, one huge misunderstanding,
A crime forbidden, by an impatience outstanding,
I see it all lost, passing away,
Gone from my reach, hidden within the fray,
I turn to face, my dying past,
Thinking that each breath, could be my last,
But this cannot, will not be, my last declaration,
When all along this could be, just a game of misdirection.

Your eyes, your face, your hair, your lips,
Your smile, your skin, your curves, your hips,
When I wake I crave your face, when I sleep I crave your dreams,
Your laugh is my nectar and your touch is my wine,
Your existence my world, my lingering lifeline,
I'm drunk on your words and high on your presence,
I long for your laughter and get off on your whispers,
You are an addiction that seeps deep into my soul,
As vile as a poison and as dark as coal,
But I'd still walk a thousand miles, to bask in your beauty,
A beauty so surreal it defies reality,
And I'd still trace your face in my every waking moment,
Counting the seconds till I can see you again,
Even though every second with you is nothing but pain.

Of all the stars, none shine brighter than your eyes,
Their freedom is more liberating than that of the skies,
Of all the roses, none glow deeper than your lips,
Their seductive red tinge draw me in closer for just one more kiss,
Of all the moon light's rays, none is fairer than your skin,
Smoother than silk and more precious than mink,
Of all the lullabies, none is sweeter than when you sing
Your songs of freedom and love, of a goddess and a king,
And of all the agony in hell, none hurts deeper than your kiss,
Especially when I remember you're no longer mine, but his.

In a haze of blue,

    I found you,

    In a shade of black,

    You had my back,

    In a light of yellow,

    You were always my fellow,

    In the lush of green,

    We were in our teens,

    In the blaze of white,

    In you I found my might,

    In the dust of brown,

    You wore your wedding gown,

    In a blast of red,

    Our vows were said,

    In the indecision of grey,

    By my side you still lay,

    Together we grew old, and our limbs grew cold,

    And then we left this black, for a white quite old.

War! we cackle,
Death! they roar,
Fear! they chuckle,
Blood will pour,
Who ordered our demise,
Who ordered our enslavement,
We try to escape, but then remember we are slaves,
Enclasping our hearts in its endless bounds,
Are the adamantine bars of our pleas and our lies,
We hunger for our freedom, yet we feed on our stifled cries,
The hounds howl and shackles rattle, desperate for our release,
Yet what is it really? What does it mean to be free?
How can we crave what we've never had so badly it bleeds our heart,
We dream of worlds with grassy plains, broken walls, and no bounds,
Yet we grew up in a world of ****** cobbled stones littered with fired rounds,
We look to the future for hope, but what is hope, if not just a part
Of the alluring poison that lures you in only to keep you in forever,
Colors clash and conflict ensues, yet our world is just as drab as before,
We are oblivious to the pain and the joy, the ecstasy and the fervor,
How can we feel it, when the vaults of our heart are just as always poor?
Sentries stand on their self-made walls and sneer through their two-faced masks,
Feel the Hope! they screech, Embrace the Despair, they sing,
Deep in our hearts, their words continue to ring,
So to forget it all we smoke and snort, **** and drink,
But they are still with us, hidden on the borders of our mind,
They push us to the borders of our sanity, and at the edge, they reel us back,
We want to open the doors of Madness, to see what we will find,
Will the darkness be white, or as black as the blackness is black,
Hope is black, and Blood is Red,
Love is gone, and Life is Dead,
We want to be free,
But what is free,
When in it,
All I see,
is
what
I
Can
Never
Be?
Me.

There is a river, of blistering cold,
                                      With a history unknown, and a past untold,
                                             I hear it's waters, are like liquid fire,
                                        Doused in hate, and tempered with desire,
                                      I've seen its violent tremors, and jarring quakes,
                                  The bones and destruction, it leaves in its wake,
                                       But I've heard it's melodies, and sweet lullabies,
                                              That lift my spirits, and dull my cries,
                                         So I long to sail, upon this river of strife,
                                          I long to sail, upon this river that is Life.

There is a lake, I long to cross,
It carries burdens, and too much loss,
But if you wait, till the midnight comes,
You may find your lover waiting, with open arms,
I've felt its cold, like the hand of death,
Yet it brings revival, and new birth,
I lurk by its waters, waiting and watching,
For stories and legends, or at least something,
For I may leave tonight, and I pray I can cope,
With the life I'll lead, upon this lake that is Hope.

                                                          ­        But there is an island I long to shun,
                                                           ­      Filled with man, and filled with sun,
                                                         It's rivers are sweet, and flow with grace,
                                                          ­        And life goes on, at a leisurely pace,
                                                         There are fruits heard of, only in legends,
                                        Where heroes roam wild, with their days to spend,
                                                 On this island there's a home, waiting for me,
                                                             ­       Filled with those, that I long to see,
                              But this island I must shun, for though filled with mirth,
                                                Is nothing more, than the island, that is Death.

I'm not scared of demons or monsters,
I'm not scared of the dark or death,
The only thing that scares me is her leaving,
And nothing in the darkness or hell can compare to that.

Who will love me on the dead of the night,
Who will love me in the days so bright,
Who will love me in the solace of cold,
Who will love me in the ages so old,
Who will love me in times of fear,
Who will love me to hold me,
Who will love me when I'm at my worst,
Who will love me when I'm at my best,
Who will love me when I'm distressed,
Who will love me when I might be stressed,
Who will love me when I feel alone,
I need someone to love me when I'm all alone,

Silence. Just silence.

We laugh and smile, embrace passion's flame,
We yell and curse, like beasts untamed,
We hug and kiss, in Aphrodite's light,
A bed of rocks and sorrows, another fight,
We lie together, hand in hand,
Tears rolling off, on forgotten sands,
Is this love, so indescripable,
So full of hate, so indescripable,
I kiss her face I brush her hair
I smash her vase ignore her cares,
I scream in elation the perfect lover
I cry in desperation the taste too sour,
And so I seek the answer, forever sought,
She loves me, she loves me not?

Oh, love, a pain so unbearably sweet,

    Riddled with joy, infused with tragedy,

    A task for the brave, a Herculean feat,

    An alluring disease, a malady

    Unobstructed by fate, untouched by time,

    It is the passion in every sorrow,

    The light, upon the destruction and grime,

    The uncharted path, a road not followed,

    Guided, by the iron shackles of fate,

    Steadied, by the hold of insanity,

    My friend, beware of those iron bound gates,

    Imbued with pride, alloyed with vanity,

    For I have been shot by Lord Cupid's dart,

    Leaving me now, with just a lover's heart.

We used to count the raindrops on your window sill,
We used to lie together and stare at the city lights,
We used to sit together under the tree on that hill,
And when the sunset came you'd kiss me and hold me tight,
But then you left.
Now there are no raindrops to count on the window sill,
The city lights don't sparkle like they used to before,
They cut down that tree on the hill, I let them,
And now the sunset's just a herald of the lonely nights
I spend alone with the memories of what was,
The memories of you and what could have been.
But you're gone and all I have now are ghosts.

The enigma of space is reflected in your eyes,
And Beauty dares not reveal to you it's true guise,
Your ruby lips shame the rose of dawn,
And your beauty is only rivaled, by the coming of the morn,
Your smooth flesh is testament to God's craftsmanship,
And your lips, oh, I could write an ode on just those lips,
There is a way, you pluck at my deepest heartstrings,
Revealing who I really am, amongst other things,
I crave your presence and dread your departure,
And with your allure, comes my heart's rapture,
What more can I do, to emboldened my claim,
When in your presence, my heart seemingly grows lame,
I leave you now, with a memory of bliss:
The genesis of our meeting, and the shadow of a kiss.

Your ebony hair is the night personified,
Or maybe it's all just in my mind,
But I can't forget how graceful you seem in stride,
Like an angel made of clouds caught in mid-glide,
Yes, I do mean to say that you are heavenly,
And my heart's door awaits your entrance readily,
I hear there is a certain kind of sadness to be found in beauty,
But your eyes seem unaware of this apparent reality,
I'm caught in a certain wrongness, something feels amiss,
And only then do I realize just how badly I'd like a kiss.

I don't really remember much, but what I can't get out of my head is her eyes; not cold ice blue eyes, but warm sky blue eyes, that somehow find a way to warm my heart whenever I stare into them. I also remember her glasses, their night black frames, creating a beautiful contrast with her soft blue eyes and smooth alabaster white skin that glows in the sun light. And her hair; golden strands of woven sunlight that always seem to gleam and never lose their luster. Her lips were like soft carved roses, glistening in the sunlight whenever she laughed. And I almost forgot the little things; her laugh that was able to make me smile whenever, regardless of the situation, a laugh like the tinkling of bells, rushing of waterfalls, and all other wonderful sounds condensed into one unit. And her body, a figure fit for gods! But what I remember the least, the detail that escapes me the most, is her amazing scent. A blend of the intoxicating aromas of pine and lavender, all swirling around to create one of the vital details in her embodiment. Whenever I'm down, I close my eyes and bring together all these little details, and there she stands; my muse. But I will find her, the real her. For a life without my muse, is a life not worth living.

A smile of cold, and a heart of ice,
I bury my pain, I smother my cries,
I stare into her eyes, those deep blue eyes,
Yet all I see, is a well of lies,
I grasp her hand, I stroke her lips,
Delve into those eyes, for that love I miss,
I search for clues, I search for answers,
Yet all I see, is the eyes of a monster,

In the cold dark night, I plan to run away,
From the beast I loved, by which side I once lay,
My tears stream down, brimming with pain,
From what I have lost, and what not gained,
I hoped for a future, a life with her,
Full of freedom, devoid of cares,
I close my eyes, think of the girl I loved,
And realize we can never again, have what we once had,
For despite my quest, my meaningless answers,
All I can see, is the eyes of a monster,
For despite my love, and all my hope,
I fell in love, with a heartless monster.

From the melodies of music, a dreamer creates Utopia,
And from the banality of life, a wordsmith forges a heart,
In the heart of every man, is a child with a phobia,
And in the stories of every poet, is a troubled past,
In the words of every romantic, is the girl that shattered a heart,
And in the creation of every artist, is the one who stole a soul,
From the pit of singularity, a loner creates a home,
In the passion of love, my heart was turned to coal.

Your eyes are old, an ice blue cold,

    A hail of lies, repeatedly told,

    I grow weary, of our constant fight,

    Within me I am drained, of all my might,

    I turn away, to walk away,

    Your path is yours, to lead astray,

    But then you smile, that winning smile,

    And then I know for you, I'll walk a thousand miles,

    You say the words, "Baby, I'm sorry."

    And then right there, there is a change of story.



    I plan to leave, to abandon you,

    The similarities we have now, are far too few,

    I turn onto that road, that road without light,

    And then I realize in you, I found my might,

    You were my shelter from the storm, my light in the dark,

    With you and only you, I made my mark,

    I turn and I ran,

    To make my way back to the sun,

    I run and ran, fly if I can,

    To make my way back to you,

    To you, and only you,

    I smile and say, "Baby, I'm sorry."

    And then right there, there's a change of story.



    Our lives have grown old,

    And our hearts too cold,

    I think it's time, for us to depart,

    To make our own ways, our lives apart,

    My heart is heavy, and my soul bleeds,

    For with you, I have all I need,

    But the sun has set,

    And our needs have been met,

    It is time, you and I know,

    For us to go,

    We turn our backs, and say goodbye,

    In darkened silence, we cry and cry,

    There is no smiling, no saying sorry,

    For this time, there is no change of story

I close my eyes and think of you,
And I smile when you say, "I love you too."