Seems like a dream
Has over taken us now
Tossed in this turmoil
I'm not quite sure how
We've all become numbers
In this nameless place
Have pity on the whole human race

We've spent years of our future
Trying to run from the past
Relying on memories
That never did last
With so many questions
Who can we ask
Where are the morals that we used to have

Whatever happened to the morals in life
We opened the window
They flew into the night
Can anyone tell me how we'll ever get by
Without the morals that once held us so tight

The fewer the heartbeats
The shorter the time
The deeper the cavern
The harder the climb
The more that we look for
The less that we find
Of the morals that we left behind

Whatever happened to the morals in life
We opened the window
They flew into the night
Can anyone tell me how we'll ever survive
Without the morals that we once had in life

There's a whole lotta nothing
That can be dug from the grave
Of life's buried problems
Of our past mistakes

You can chisel the tombstone
Make room for the dates
Of the didn't go the way we planed
That now lay to waste

You can call in the Pallbearers
To shoulder it all
To help carry the burden
Of where you left off

Hire professional mourners
To cry for the loss
But can you really afford
Such an extravagant cost

When all is said and done
The last word the preacher will say
Is there's a whole lotta nothing
That can be dug from the grave

I woke up this morning
To the sign of the times
Wondering where it all went
As none of this I recognize

Why do the best of all memories
Have to grow old
As years of tears have cleared the dust
From off my country road

Nothing's now simple
As it used to be
The world in which I once lived
Has moved to the South side of mean

Cold winds have brought a chill
To all I used to know
Blowing the dust off
Of my country road

There's no way to go back
But I still swim in the pond of my dreams
Diving into simpler times
Wading through serene scenes

It didn't happen all the sudden
So it never really showed
Until all the dust came up missing
From my country road

I sometimes catch slight glimpses
If you know what I mean
As I blink back the tears
From the space in-between

Would things have been different
If I would have been shown
What lay beneath
The dust of my country road

I have come a long way.
Those endless nights spent clouding the mind
to a comfortable blindness
where I did not have to witness
the war at my own front door.

I have come a long way.
Locked in fear I could not communicate
with my foreign tongue;
learned that good company
was the mere salute of open arms.

Learned to swallow breath
as I once did pills, *****, and cigarettes
to find that patient calm.
Chemicals promise anaesthesia;
only pain is left when supplies are gone.

I have come a long way
from the departure lounge,
staring at heaving grey skies
and contriving a paradise
no one could hope to find.

Walked suicidal through
tourist-lit streets of central Bangkok.
Half-drunk I wondered why
I continued to breathe;
why my heart refused to stop.

I have come a long way
from believing happiness
is a steady state you can attain
through time-lapse images of victories
and failures you forgot.

Fell in love with an older woman
who would sleep beside me
when she could not see her son.
Through nights of *** and amphetamine
she would sway through each melody

even when the meaning was lost.
Taught me how to speak Thai in the moonlight,
left food on the handles of my motorbike
when I was too hungover
to face the day.

I have come a long way.
Travelled 6000 miles to learn
that home  means anything
from a constant pleasure
to some happy accident.

That love is not pillow-talk;
it’s the rain on the windshield
that gives shelter from the storm.
That truth is not what you hope to find.
but the words that you meant;

fractions of yourself
you could never leave behind.
I have come a long way.
I have made love in enough hotel rooms
to tell you the ashes of yesterday

can be both the aftermath of a flame
you cannot replace
and the fertile ground
to change your name
and start over again.

I have come a long way.
I am still my worst enemy.
Every day is still a fight;
each moment filled with darkness
when I cannot see the light.

I have come a long way.
Stood brave in the entryway
of every opened door.
Made a toast for all the people I could be;
all of the people I have been before.

Read every line etched on my face
That tells of the time along with the place

Where a story this old
Will not go untold

Look in my eyes that have been clearer most days
And the secrets they hold that they won't give away

The ones collected in my youth
If you must know the truth

And the hands that I have with the ache and the hurt
Arthritic most times in their twists and their turns

But still able to wave to the dead
Friends that have left

With the buckling of knees and the thinning of hair
As my hearing in and out leaves for somewhere other than here

And these brittle bones that are cold
With the shivers of old

The mirror on the wall no longer reflects my memory
Holds nothing I want nor do I care to see

Just look at this body to read
Life's story

Always have dreams and never lose sight of your dreams no matter what...'coz that is what will help you progress in life..it will motivate you to move ahead..there will be many obstacles on the path to reaching your dreams...you just have to be strong, believe in yourself and fight them...along the way you'll come across some who will criticise and demotivate...keep away from them...there will be a select few who will understand your dreams and support you...keep them close..remember your dreams are a part of you and so fight for them till you realise them.

I started leaving the door open for you.
I started to write and live honestly.
Endless nights spent chasing
another song of defeat
across the ashtray
forgetting my own words:

you can create art out of suffering;
you should never create suffering for art.

I started waiting for you.
I started to notice the decline of my moods
coincided with sublime precision to your
tail-lights in the distance.
Half-drunk
I had forgotten my own words:

suffering may be borne out of love;
love should not be borne out of suffering.

I started leaving the door open for you.
I started to expose each sleepless night
and commonplace hangover
as a symptom of a malady
and not a way of life.
You helped me to recall

peace arrives once the war has ended.
For peace, you do not have to fight.