Crowded streets, alive with a rhythm That moves too fast for me. I carefully weave through a town for the artists Who need someone to be, Into a quiet place;
A crowded mind, sustaining an echo chamber Fit for our times. Surrounded by a thousand decisions I look back at a life Up on a pedestal.
Where I missed the signs in smiles and glances, And hold out for those second chances At the moments that I've missed; Never lived.
(I) Detach from the dream disrupting the rhythm That makes you you, and me? Lost in time; Compulsively collecting the moments That made me want to be In this quiet place to read
(Read) All the signs in smiles and glances; I won't change the world discarding chances To move on from when we lived, But we'll live, we'll live, we'll live...
(I'll live)...through all the second-hand supposed answers Composing poems in hopes of small advances Towards the peace of mind I need To find me again.
Crowded streets, alive with a rhythm That moves too fast for me.