The shade of the room reflects just how he feels
The lights are low as he runs a shaking hand down his face
He can’t see it but there’s a picture on the wall of the heart he broke
Sketched into eyes that look somewhat surprised
And he looks around not for anything in particular
He’s got a head full of thoughts and it’s hot so his shirt’s off
Holdin tight to the cross necklace he usually hides
Polishing up the bricks of the walls he dives behind
Writin’ down lines somewhat autobiographically
Though in fact, he takes each line back automatically
No confession worth sharing when there are doubts to be weighed
Burn dreams like incense to clear the stench of uncertainty
And reminisce for a bit of sun-dried driftwood and time
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