Western coast overcast With the waves lapping at my toes Truth is I think of writing all the time Yet, I’m unable to fill blank pages With salt filled air and words alike For this over-freeze is affecting me And I am just not feeling the wind In the sway and flow of the trees And my brain is diseased And I’m feeling low Oh, I’m feeling low
Calming the storm inside Although, it’s raining heavy outside Through the torrent and dark Shines a faint glow Guiding me back home Slowing the whirring within It’s just gonna take a bit of work
I use to think I belonged down in hell Going to church Where the addicts go to meet Seeking shelter from their demons Trading shame for amnesty Till reprieves fell on hurting shoulders While my thoughts eat me alive From the inside And my body feels like a prison Where my soul resides Till I wake up And there you lay
I am a tradesman I work a 6 till 3 Perfectly suited to normality Yet, drawn to melody Planting trees to treat apathy For, when the speckled snows come With death and blasphemy What a natural causality Yet, I’ll be here planting trees For you and I Just to be able to breathe
With the sun at it’s peak The feel of the blood and sweat Trickling down your vibrating arms Ragged breaths and aching muscle Vision narrow from your helmet Feeling the sweet crimson nectar Drip into every crevice of skin folds Wrinkled from age As you tighten your grip For the overwhelming onslaught That life may be Clad in gold Fighting for life with reckless love For we may not be able to earn it And we surely may not deserve it Yet, we shall undoubtedly give ourselves Away