It's 3 A.M. here and the world's asleep.
I've had enough drinks to numb me.
Somewhere you're softly sleeping.
I talk to God and the Devil
but I think only one is whispering back.
Everything is happening.
Nothing is happening.
They some how seem the same.
There's strangers in the mirrors here.
What was once bold and brave,
is just bleary-eyed and desperate.
You're just a few words on a screen.
Yet some how those words have the weight of worlds.
I was raised on romanticism.
Bred on the idea of love overcoming all.
Ideas are nice.
Reality is stronger.
The body is breathing,
but the soul is gasping for air.
There is a darkness all to familiar.
It blankets the long nights,
hangs over every single day.
Hard to sleep at night,
when you know there are those who walk the earth,
who think as little as you think of yourself.
So I keep drinking.
And I keep running.
Running in to all the wrong arms.
Warming all the wrong beds
and stirring all the wrong hearts.
You're sleeping softly some where else.
But some how...the world keeps turning.