Somewhere between floating and falling.
Too numb to feel myself.
I play pretend so no one has to,
while my heart sits on a shelf.

My kindness is not weakness,
nor is innocence my game.
But no one ever sees me,
they just simply know my name.

Here I am, a woman,
in a worn out pair of shoes.
I never learned to play guitar,
or I would strum the blues.

And I'm carrying my roots
since I can't find solid ground.
I'm just blowing in the winds
with all the other sights and sounds.

The world gave me music,
and what I capture with my lens.
And it's the beauty that I find,
that always pulls me back in.

I know that train is leaving,
and I haven't got a dime.
Something grab ahold of me,
because I'm running out of time.

The sun.
A beacon guiding all
toward the good intentions
that grow over
where graves begin.

Time doesn't change
inside the frame.
There's only the dust
collecting.

Outside the glass
the sky
is
falling...
one
drop
at
a
time.

I charge death
for the life he cost,
while he searches
for his fee.
'Tis I who owe you
nothing, sir,
but you can
lap my bones
for free.