Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Less Like Home

There’s a place inside my head
That I used to call home
But now the bills are overdue
And the weeds are overgrown

I’m standing by a gate with a rusted lock
Praying that the rain will wash away my thoughts
But the skies are overcast with a subtle gray
While the dry November air brings back what I forgot
There’s a place inside my mind
Where I go to pass the time
But now the voices there inside
Are sounding less and less alive

As the air creeps slowly down into my lungs
I watch as leaves fall softly from where they have hung
And the chill of the season stops me in my tracks
As I lose all reason and start singing songs that I was once sung

There’s a place inside my head
That I used to call home
But now the doors are all locked
And I’m outside alone

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