The world moves in waves and circles -
But not me, I�m comatose.
I lie on my side starring off into a distance
That I can no longer see.
I can remember, once, reaching that hill;
Thriving and striving before stumbling and tumbling.
The grass has grown longer now
And the pears on that tree have grown rotten.
Or maybe nothing has grown.
Maybe nothing has rotted.
Maybe nothing�s the key -
It has been there since the beginning.
It has built these walls while feeding my imagination;
An IV drip that sucked the life right out of me.
Or was it my will, or my want.
But what have I wanted?
Respect in three directions, acknowledgment in two, love from one.
Time to myself, alone on that hill.
Maybe nothing�s an unfulfilled promise.
Maybe nothing�s a curse.