My cycle of thought goes round and round
Prodding at my blacks and blues
Thrown in the ring going pound for pound
Forced to do what I should be used to

But maybe I'm not meant for this time
Maybe I belong to a more tranquil scene
Desperate for a place to hide
People rush by one, two three
Brain waves crash and burn and
No one seems able to discern
All these things
That bother me

And oh my God
When they come to settle
There's never any room to breathe
In the darkness they breed and meddle
I'm prone to crumble and fall
The rope always snaps
Leaving me in this empty hall
With no one but myself

But the beauty in the downward road
The loneliness and the ensuing confusion
Usually feel like a heavy load
But in the end
Things always put themselves back together
Like an automated puzzle
With the fickle will of a feather
So I sail the open sea
Nothing really bother me