17 Aug 2012

08 - "The Door"

Seventeen and running wild
A product of his folks
An awkward walk and a crooked smile
The subject of some jokes
Searching for something more
Looking for some light
In every angle a locked door
And no key in his sight

And he refrains from asking the question
He avoids the truth that be told
He’s waiting for it to come to him
He’ll wait till he gets old
He makes his bed and scratches his head
And never really learns
The door he knows will open up
Is the door from which he turns

Thirty three and still alone
Doing what brings him down
Carrying a thousand stones
As his life falls to the ground
Still searching for something more
Waiting for a sign
Hoping one day it will come
Whatever it is he’ll find


Somehow he never fought for what life could’ve been
He doesn’t know about what people say about him
Maybe he was meant to be alone without you
Or maybe he was too afraid to do what he needed to do