If I were to take a trip
Down old memory lane
I'd stop by and sit
On the bench near my shame
I'd remember the times
All my faults and flaws
Caught up with my life
And showed me the cause
Then I'd head to the beach
Of complete remorse
Because then I could teach
You what to do when unsure
So take a trip down
This old memory street
Where litter lies around
And blows past our feet
I'll show you this life
We'll paint my town red
And when we've made enough strife
It's home time, to rest
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.