Seems like I always wanna bust outta here. Like, I gotta get some where. Like if I fail, some how there are people somewhere counting on me. I guess it’s all something I made up in my mind. But it’s like this form of anxiety that plagues me… and god help you if you get in my way of getting home. Cause all I wanna do is get home. Not quite sure where exactly “home” is supposed to be, but I’m certainly in search of it. And I have this feeling I need to be there. For a good while I was certain it was between 3 and 5 in the morning. There might be a bottle or two involved in that line of thinking.
wishing a bottle would wash up on shore
wishing a bottle could mean so much more
I’m sitting here just waiting for……..
an eternity lost in words
I’ll take you home, just show me the way
I’ll always see you like that very first day.
Lost in love, don’t take it away