im drunk.
high on god knows what
with the whole world spinning like a top
its even worse when my eyes are shut

but its worth the sickness
for the slight reprieve
needed a break from reality
where i can pretend you didn't leave

I saw her in town yesterday,
She crossed the hill o’er the brae.
She didn’t see me, or so she played;
‘Twas only her son did look my way.

A young man with eyes so blue,
With wavy hair and ginger too.
Often time folks wondered why,
He never had her husbands eyes.

What is this feeling?
This desire to create?
Why won't it go away?

No matter how hard I work
Or how hard I don't,
It assaults me every night.

In every lonely moment,
On every stroll it's with me.
In every dream it haunts me.

Why can't I create beauty?
I'm told it's in here somewhere,
Locked up, locked away.

How do I free it?
Even when I write this I know it's boring, self righteous;

How do I free myself?
How do I sate this feeling.

Wait 'til a blue moon stands against a blue sky,
And the roar of the cars and wind going by
Makes the edge of town feel like the edge of the world,
Only then, will I listen to your complaints of loneliness.

Scrolling through Facebook, Born to Run in my ears,
My friends celebrate that they're in the clear;
The beginning of their career.

There's no Wendy running with me, but that's ok.
She'd only get in my way.

Picking my life I jumped the gun. In bed at one for a bus at half five;
"The body is dead but the spirit is alive!"

Trying to read my scripts on the bus, fighting open my eyes.
Won't be back for a while, so mother's last words; sweet goodbyes.

Stepping off the bus, my baggage is heavy; the suitcase too.
My body is worn, my jacket is torn, and there's rain in my shoe.

Wendy. Where are you?

Should've been mine. Always something; someone.
Lonely already, at only eighteen.
How can someone so young be so bitter?
So few memories - so many regrets.

Youth's last breath is upon me,
And I can hear the bell toll;
I am alone in the house;
I stare blankly at the wall.
I have a whirlpool of thoughts
Which just will not leave me be.
I look around my bedroom;
Comics, posters, clothes, books. Me.
Eighteen years in the making,
A lifetime of memories,
Mistakes. The thought's quite humbling.
I have a box of old toys;
Guns, trucks, swords. All forgotten.
The days of childish games? Over.
Of repressed hopes, dreams? Begun.
I'll go to school tomorrow
And nothing will have changed.
But it will all be different.