Miles away from home
In shoes now torn, I walked here
Slowly, ever slowly, alone
Silently, you'd never hear
I reached my place
No more left to face
Grasping at the straws of grace
Seemingly missing something
Or was it all illusion?
Moving despite everything
Ever through the confusion
Tell me, doctor, where's your cure
Help's coming fast, you say
I can't know for sure
Now please, just for this day
Give me the rest I need
If everyone is
No one isn't
Something remains
In the quiet corner
Despite no one to mourn her
Ever moving forwards, for words
[Every thought spilled out. The music sheet soiled from the leaking pen. Till another day, perhaps]
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.