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Do you hear that?
It’s the wind that whistles my name,
It comes from a place without any shame,
An honest retreat from my ill gotten fame,
It wants me and mind to own and tame.
Trees hid the star that guided me,
It twinkled twixt branches too dark to see,
Caged in the sky where it was meant to be free
I never got to where I was meant to be.
I find a place without my guide,
but I lose my will and my pride,
I wait for the tears to be dried,
But I feel my soul crack and divide.
Because this isn’t the honest retreat,
There is no soft green lush at my feet,
And there is no gentle summer’s heat,
Just the stench of rotten meat.
They try to help me get out of this place,
They try to put a smile back on my face,
But I just want my own space,
A little area to hide my disgrace.
It’s not my dream or my fate,
I don’t wish for anything great,
I don’t love but I don’t hate,
But it’s the only way I can relate.
