I have a closet full of spiral notebooks that contradict each other
Each one a piece of me that I don't want to remember
The chicken scratch of sleepless nights and unstable letters
And I have no intention of pulling them all together

My pencils are in fragments and my pens have all bled out
So I paint pictures with my self destruction and my self doubt
And while my star has burned bright but now its nearly burnt out
There's a fire in the attic and I'm spaced out on the couch

The black sheep is back in town and missed none of you at all
Accepted on himself all the cracks in that cell wall
His words sit collecting dust in a blackbird's drawl
Eyes wide open with a smile 'till the white horizon falls