God seems like a funny guy. He paid for the whole omnipresent
seat, so he'd better get comfortable. I can hear him
laughing at every step. But I can tell he's embarrassed

These days I catch myself looking at the writings and recalling
why I wrote. Knowing who they were for. They'll never see
the words I just randomly thought of that I wish I wrote.

Here I am looking at the clock. Counting the days to the day
which I don't know. The man in the attic does. His little snicker
taunts at the back of my skull. I'll keep believing no matter what.

Just look out of the brick window and daydream in blue.
I tend to have daydreams I thought only possible with cigarettes.
The thoughts drift through my open mind and only leave chills

The ear-piercing alarm that my head makes blares through my cold figure and jolts me awake struggling for warmth in my bed once more,
trying to guess how many minuets have passed since I turned off the light and drifted away.

I'll wait forever knowing something good is coming. There's
a blueprint of sorts coming and I cant help but thinking
the harsh graffiti on the walls are signs. I Haven't been sleeping well.

Sure, give me another dream just to wake up from. When that
day comes, maybe something will go right or am I just
waiting for the day to come where God says "Yeah alright, Mate."
Can I have a hint?