Crickets burrowing in my window sill,
Sing their sad, weepy songs,
For the ones they’ve loved,
And the one’s I’ve lost,
Inside the shells of the bodies that I once knew.
Down the old dirt roads,
The pebbles and stones,
Speak of the memories that are gone,
And the ones I made up myself,
Constructing you out of glue and colored paper,
Making you what I always wished you were,
But you never lived up to.
Green grass shoots,
And waxy roots,
Dig down deep for that drop of water,
Hiding in the ground.
And I feel it all in my veins,
The lies, the stories, the people who pass through,
Their hurts, their pain,
It all beats beats beats through my blood,
As my heart pulses and intertwines,
With the rhythm of the world that started out before,
I was even an imagine in someone’s brain.
And the world’s song will keep playing for the millions,
When I am no longer remembered.
And if all I am is skin and bones,
Then how come my soul screams to be heard?
How come I hear it knocking sometimes,
When I am just trying to live my life,
How come it whispers in my ear,
When I am walking along,
And I tell it to shut up,
But it wont stop shouting,
If I am just skin and bones,
Then why wont it let me go?