I have this pound of clay, but I've never been much of an artist,
And trying to make something beautiful alone, that's the hardest,
My fingers don't work and my eyes are too old,
My hearts forever aching and my soul has been sold,
But maybe a new vision could guide my hands a new way,
As I try to, I used to think manipulate, but you showed me work with my hunk of that clay,
But I've always been scared to ask for your help,
I've always been scared to ask for anything, so I dealed with what I was dealt,
But it doesn't really work, trying to be completely alone,
Because to everyone you're a stranger, and you'll lose what was home,
I think it's time I stopped being a vagabond in my own heart,
So please will you help me? Because I want to make someone, anyone, realize what's always been true, to see this clay as art