Walked out the door,
into the God abandoned day,
night took his toll,
brought his longtime friend,
the rain.

Please, don't follow me.
I'm not mad for the reasons you thought.
I'm not sad for the season I lost.
It's the lessons you didn't mean, but taught.
Please, don't follow me.
Your words are meaning less and less to me.

Walked past my car,
stopped at Vista,
bought a pack,
watched the water war,
spat smoke, in my soaked coat, under an awning,
a teenage couple, tense as matchsticks, walked past,
staring with unknown, undeserved prejudice.

Please, don't follow me.
It isn't about emotional depths or rediscovery.
It isn't about finding happiness or inspiring sorrow.
It's the fact that my mistakes led me to you.
Please, don't follow me.
You aren't ready to help me.