What lies in the confides of these pages.
A black hole to capture an artist's rages.
In whatever form, pictures or words.
They always come down, constantly crashing in hoards.
Beware I say, of what you might see.
What could be my mind's eye, of what's truly me.
Written in books, bound by leather,
Caught in dream catcher strings to keep me out of the Ether.
Be careful I say, of what you might see.
What could me by mind's eye, of what's truly me...

It seems like all of this is just a system.
If we're the waste then what the gold?
If we all rose up we could **** them.
But if we resort to hypocrisy,
We'll lose all we've got left to hold.

There is a girl
At the end of the hall
With thoughts like rain
Her back pressed to the wall
Her words untamed
She won't be changed
With her beautiful voice
So soft it charms snakes

But behind closed doors
You never know
What she could be thinking
Or what she could know
What she's hiding
How she's grown
How she's dying
To at least be known

But she'll carry on
With open eyes
She'll find her way
Be more the wise
She'll fan the fire
Before it dies
In attempts to make up
For those previous lies

I am the light
The fire inside
To make you hopeful
Make you bright
I am the one to wear down the path
To finally learn to close my wrath

I am the one with sticks and stones
Though I don't think I'd use them to break any bones
Send a letter
Don't trust the phone
They're listening in
Though they think we don't know

Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick...
With the clock hanging on the wall,
Here I am to hear the noises,
To close my eyes and remember them all,
The echo of no sound through the room,
The absence of footsteps down the hall,
The only sound a lonely clock,
Hanging, fading on the wall,
Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick...

If we were allowed to sing a Pagan song
With our drums in the open
No people telling us it's wrong
With paupers and dancers
Bonfires burning, nights are long
Maybe we could get closer to our peace
Maybe we could love one another
Maybe we can finally say
We really are just sisters and brothers

Thoughts are like rain,
To slide right off of the heads of our leaders
Like drops off umbrellas.
Only to collect on the ground,
Broken and bruised,
To start a massive flood.