This isn't my fight
Yet I'm stuck here in the middle
Waving the only white flag
Seen for miles on end
You hate this, they hate that
Everyone shoots their gun
Bullets flying into the no-man's-land
And the irony is
That all of them hit me and my little flag
My little white, white flag
Just stop it, damn you all
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.