i woke up and wrote a song
but forgot i couldn’t sing
so i ripped the page from my notebook
and threw it to the birds
they can have the rights and everything.

This is what midway is,
half out and hanging in to
dream on.

And that way to Wednesday,
but it's hopeless to tell you
unless the experience is
first hand,
second hand will not do,
I am watching.

It's early and
there's barely a sparkle in
my eyes
but I can see the future crawling
out of me,

hanging on with all my might
against things that drop off
in the night.
getting old.

Anyway midway's no way to start the day,
you need to motivate, to energise,
to put that sparkle in your eyes.

I think im nostalgic for life
Through music
And books
Because i havent lived
A day of my life

No one really lives
In this town

And i think im poetic
Because im homeless
But i live in a house
But im not
Im not poetic
Im just a brat

His hands are numb from
strangling the demons inside

I'm starting
to see
through people
who make
their lives
look pretty