Pointless like the builder in the storm
Build up just to have it torn
Crumbling, crashing, effort gone
Then begin again, try moving on
From left and right no help arrives
From front and rear no caring ear
Just watch the helpless waste of life
Toiling onwards, year by year
Brittle glass, tap and shatter
Shielding soulful, sorrowful self
Selfish, sinful, sickly sweet
Yet sinking slowly, screaming softly
Save me, someone, send the storm
The rain that soaks my swaying will
Beating, silent, on my door
Slowly soothing scars and wound
Slowly healing, healing, gone...
Studio B
- Mark
- When you need to wake up in the morning, and set the right mood for the day, when you need to escape from the overwhelming everything of life. What do you turn to? How do you describe your core without speaking aloud, without having to talk to someone about it? This is how. Music. Lyrics. Poetry. Do you feel it? Do you? It's here, it's everywhere, locked within you, within the most tone deaf of us. It's begging to be released, become unleashed in a tearing chord, a crying melody, soulful harmony, dying lyric. You feel it yet? It's concealed here, within every word that I write. This is my release. I want you to see it, to feel it with me. This pure expression of every tangible and imaginable emotion known and unknown to man. To me. Welcome to The Window.