The book is full; I close the pages
Place it on my bookshelf
It's filling up, but there is more
Deep inside myself
The pen's run dry; I move to take
Another from a drawer
I glance beyond the window pane
I'm not sure what I'm looking for
The grass is brown, the leaves are falling
Although they once were green
The light of day is bleak and empty
For there is far too much I've seen
My study walls are too familiar
The wood has lost its sheen
Let me out
I am screaming
This is not what's meant for me
Far away I will be running
I have lost my freedom
And I can't catch it
Oh, I can't catch it...
Lost in thought; that's hardly strange
My head, my study, where I am
I was never meant to live here
But I am
But I am...
Slowly now, the door is op'ning
I barely even bat an eye
Then I turn. He says, "Hello."
I never got to say goodbye before
Let me out
I am searching
For the life that's meant for me
And far away I will be running
I have seen my freedom
And I must catch it
Oh, I must catch it...
As we embrace, the tears roll down.
"Where have you been?"
He smiles at me, "I never left,"
"You close the door on me."
He let me out
I'm still searching
For the life he meant for me
But far away, I am still running
I have found my freedom
And I keep running
Oh, we keep running...
Him and me.
In the dark hours of the night, it's much easier to reflect on your life, and figure out those things that torture you incessantly, without your knowing it. For me, being trapped in familiar places with no sense of adventure anywhere has been my constant disease. Somehow, writing songs seems to help a little with things like this.
