I have a complex
A condition as it may
To call nothing mine
For what is mine
Tends to want to fly away.
They dream of knives
And perhaps a little blood
Beating senseless
What I call nonsense
Like no one else ever would.
I call them dreams
As simple as it may look
Because they prosecute
And search for all it seems
That I have once took
To the cages and the burrows
They whisper of home and
I hear a little shouting of lies
Falling down and down here
Once more.
Nothing is mine.
Nothing is all of yours.