The Oran rain patters against my home,
The wind breaks upon the house
and I lie in bed
feeling comfortably alone.

I need to sort my life, move on from this town,
Need to stop being on my own, want to give myself
away, want someone to take me
far away. I'd willingly lose myself
to another, a city or a person; the other,
Me. Is this narcissism? Can I just be happy,
Or must I change so radically
in order to escape?

The real work must begin,
This aimlessness must end before it becomes
ceaseless in its expansion. All I have are words
and melodies, moments in experience that will be lost to all
time. I might as well craft an album, and nod to all I've felt
and've left to feel. Music keeps me alive, 's the only thing
sometimes.