And I have to think,
Is this the path I want?
The grass is always greener.
On the other side.
Better to be forever moving,
Storm blowing from port to port.
See how I sprinkle my love;
But I leave, and change,
And you never truly know me,
Or how I will return.
The emptiness is growing.
So young but I am centuries old.
I am weary like metal fatigue,
The shell on my back has grown to heavy.
Quasimodo in the bell tower,
Raining down the chirripy tones.
Oh to be one of the wet masses!
But down there I am an alien.
Up here I am an angel.
There was always supposed to be answers,
I could understand myself before.
Alien language does not translate.
I am lost on your Earth.
And I am lost in your clouds,
Because the grass is always greener.
No more in only essence do I stand.
What does a tear look like,
In the vibrations of that tolling sound?
The notes and tunes are less clear under water,
I have to think, I have to think again.
Second guessing brings only torment,
Because the grass is only greener.
On the other side,
Most unstable when stable.
