The Way Things Are

When I think about the places I’ve been and where I come from,

what I’ve seen and the things I shouldn’t of,

I shiver at the idea that it all means something.

And sometimes I wish my eyes were blind to everything but beauty,

but that isn’t the kind of world we live in, is it?

I am an island lost at sea searching for God knows what;

Trudging through this life of muddy water wanting more,

but nothing seems to satisfy the thirst of my youth.

I guess I’ll keep looking for that which I already possess.

The thing, they said, “Wasn’t enough,”

in a life where I could have more.

This puzzle doesn’t even make sense,

so how in the hell am I suppose to piece it together.

For the sake of having a purpose,

I’ll keep walking this path of righteousness,

running from a past that haunts me.

This crutch is all I got,

I don’t have anything else to fall on.

And what does that say about me?

You know I worry far too much about that.

You see, only the mask of my charades,

and I even can fool myself sometimes.

But he sees right through me,

to the heart of my demise.

And that’s what I gather it will take

for things to be different.

So, in fear I fight against it.

Cause in some sick way

I like the way things are.