I don't think I belong here.

Mom, where'd you go?
Dad, don't leave.

Little sister, little sister.
Deep in my head I stay.

Roaming the hills of unwanted thoughts,
delving the forests of secret things.

Climbing the stories to reach for the sun
I almost grasp a star.

too late
falling
falling
the story not enough to bear me.

falling
     falling
          falling

I don't think I belong here.
I'd rather walk
under the leaves of Lothlorien
sleep under the light of Evenstar

I'd rather die
battling Smeagol
poor, pitiable old Smeagol

I'd rather speak
a language no human knows

deep in the Chamber of Secrets
I'd rather be a Farwalker
I'd rather spit at the Snake in
Eden

I'd rather fly
and meet Oromis and Glaedr

I'd rather wield a sword against
whatever nameless one

in what ever
half forgotten world

born of a dying thought

I'd rather be a character to scorn.

Where are you, Mom, Dad?
Little sister, little sister.

I don't think I belong here.