When it's least expected, it hits like a
freight train.

Where you're playing guitar on a sunny afternoon and
tornadoes blow through.

Writing songs to the beat of my heart,
the room catches fire.


My candle is blown out.

Suddenly
I can't see.
Trapped in the black silence

I create my shackles
and swallow my own key.

People come and go.

Some try to break the ties.

I glare with danger in my eyes.

Biting the hand that feeds
is now my only need.

How did I get to this point?

I won't allow me out of this joint.


Go away.

Leave me be.

Don't you see?



Come back...

Please...