this life we live-
it's crazy, isn't it?
funny how the words choke me up
but when it comes down to this:
i have nothing to say
that hasn't been said already.

so what distinguishes me from
the cacophony of voices in my soul?
what makes me different from
the inky blackness in which i
try to hide?

every day is like a battle
but every night just passes like a dream
this life we live,
it's not for everyone but

we love it.

there's a void in my soul
something i pretend to have lost
when it seems i never had it
to start with.

it's long lost kisses
and pretty things,
dark clouds and weeping willows,
giving up
and holding on
whispering branches in winter
and the wailing of the ocean in summer.

and if i reach deep enough into myself
i know that it is love
something lost, nothing gained.
but that doesn't matter, really
when you're a washed up, beat up soul
with nothing left
but a sandpiper to bring you joy.

no love,
but that's not a bad thing.

seventeen,
found a home in a tiny wine cellar
off the coast of malibu
drank and drank till i could drink no more,
yet it couldn't fill the hollow inside.

eighteen,
took a one-way ticket out of malibu;
flew through the clouds till i
reached this little hole in denver;
made a home, lost a house.

nineteen,
took a one-way ticket out of you
blessed my long dark hair,
smelt the apple blossoms in your chest
kissed you goodbye and never came back.

twenty, twenty,*
what's there left for me to do?
found a home in a little wine cellar
in a big city
killed myself with alcohol

but forgot about the me i left behind.