The symptoms, I can see
What’s hard’s to find the malady
There are problems arising
And the thought so paralyzing
I fit in perfectly
In the drawer of expired batteries
Can’t find a use, but I’m still working
Though I don’t mask well the hurting

There’s no mistaking me
A 6’2” catastrophe
Not the favorite, but I’m up there
Just don’t read my list of errs
I no longer apologize for myself
Though I’m not opposed to some help
These wings are malting, I don’t fly
But I aspire for the sky

Can you see me falling
Though on air seems like I’m walking
The open wounds masquerade as scars
I’m walking strongly, but not that far
Partial truth are still lies
Yet they’re sung lullabies
I’m trying to find truth in me
And am sometimes left out to bleed

The only apparent cure for this
Is to live my life and do my best
But life looks soft, but rubs on rough
And sometimes best is not enough
A prophet for thing in hindsight
A tympanum of unjust and unright
Crawling from the weight of memories
To hope and find the malady