The thing I'm best at is getting lost,
by disregarding the cost
of loving relentlessly.
Reckless naivety
is me, you see.

I'm stumbling here, going there,
hoping to catch a glimpse of you.
Just in case it would cure this blue.

But you are just nowhere near.
I'm left alone here, fighting despair.
Stuck in cliche, torn by inner conflict.
Hoping for release, like a doomed convict.

And whenever I see anyone remotely similar to you,
I think: "Could it be true? Is that really you?"
But it's just wishful thinking.
And then I realize I'm sinking
deep,
deep
down.

Down where you can't be found.

Down where even a desperate heart
doesn't make a sound.

Down where I can't hear
your shimmering voice
trough all the noise
of circumstance.

Is this called sadness,
or is it madness?

To find comfort in the rain.

To seek the source of your pain,
wanting to feel the heavy strain.

To look for meaning in misery,
not being able to let it be.

And where did my dignity go?
It must have flown right out the window...