I dabble in dreams Singing with the sirens Masking my shrill screams I'm searching for guidance
These eyes are empty I'm living outside of me My demons tempt me Form a different reality
I spend days in a cloud of smoke With my nose buried in my collar The more I try the more I know I'm broke Living lackluster life in squalor
I'm panhandling on the corner of the street With only pieces of my broken heart in my paper cup Yet I find it so hard to admit defeat I'm down not out I'll pick myself back up
This seems somehow hopeful, though it doesn't feel as smooth or in depth as I'd like it to.